Guest Post: In Memory of Summer by Sean J.R. Palmertree

Written by my husband, Sean J.R. Palmertree, in memory of our sweet Summer girl (2014-2025).

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On Friday, Sept. 26, my golden retriever, Summer, unexpectedly passed away after 11 years as part of my family. Since then, the pain has been immense as I mourn the loss of my Golden Gal, my Baby Gurl, my Oinker Strudel, and countless other silly names I’ve called her over the years. While some will say that she “was just a dog,” for us, this was not true. She was a family member, a source of joy and compassion, a sliver of pure love with no ulterior motives. She only wanted to love and to be loved back. She straddled decades of our lives ushering my wife into her 30s and into her 40s, while she saw me through my late 20s and 30s. She taught us how to heal, helping my wife through the painful loss of her mother, and allowing her to feel joy again and joy and welcome back a sense of purpose back.

My wife immigrated from Argentina when she was eight years old, and television shows at the time helped integrate her into American culture and helped her learn English. One of these shows was Full House, with their golden, Comet. She would always tell her mom that she would one day grow up and be “American,” own a home and, of course, have a golden retriever. We purchased our first house and moved into it on Friday, July 31. That Sunday, Aug. 2, Summer joined us and made it a home.

Our journey with Summer didn’t start there, however. We researched and found a breeder that we believe matched our values and had the temperament we were looking for in a golden: a healthy and happy family member. Without our knowing, we would meet Summer in her mother’s belly. We drove to the breeder’s house, which he had built himself on some rural land, and were greeted by a pack of goldens, tails wagging, excited to meet us and welcome us to their land. We immediately had a feeling it was a good fit. He introduced himself and took us to meet Summer’s mother, Courtney. As soon as we met her, she greeted us with the golden smile and rolled over on her back to get pets and loving, fully exposing her pregnant belly. We were in awe.

At that moment, we knew that we wanted to bring one of Courtney’s precious pups home with us. We immediately told the breeder and got on his list, specifying that we would ideally love a female pup. We headed home and waited for news. On June 15, Courtney’s litter arrived: a litter of seven with three females. One of them would soon be ours.  At four weeks, we drove up to meet Summer, 1.5 hours each way, knowing she was too young for us to pick up and interact with as she did not have all of her shots, but we felt it was a visit well spent. When we arrived, Courtney again greeted us, and we obliged with pets and affection. We were shown to Summer’s puppy pile, a tangle of downy fur and paws. He took her from the pile to show us to her, and she was not happy. She groaned and grunted, squeaked and growled, wanting to return to the warmth of the pile. We talked to her and told her we were so excited to meet her, and we couldn’t wait to start a home with her. He put her back into the pile, and she wiggled her way in and snuggled her littermates, a sign of things to come. As we drove home, hearts full, we knew that in a little over a month’s time, we would be bringing our little girl home with us.

We not so patiently waited for that day to come. We planned all the things we would need, a training crate which we dubbed her “house,” food bowls, beds (plural) for her to lay on, toys, food storage, puppy shampoo… We both even took “Pawternity” leave to focus on her for two weeks. When the day finally arrived to pick her up, she was the last puppy standing, patiently waiting for us to arrive. We wrang the doorbell and the breeder stepped out with her. I so badly wanted to scoop her up, to say hello, to give her a kiss, but I knew this moment wasn’t for me. I gestured to my wife, whose glee I had not seen since before her mom passed away, as she scooped this 5.5-lb. ball of love into her arms and snuggled her. Summer “booped” her with her nose, gave her a kiss, and started to chew on her hoodie’s drawstring. My wife melted and mouthed, “I love her.” And while she had only just held her, I know this to be true. We chatted a little with the breeder, and then decided it was time to head home. We enticed Summer to the car with treats, and of course my wife held her on the ride. She was a little nervous, this being her first car ride, and buried her muzzle into my wife, who comforted her. I spoke to her, promising her that in short time, she would grow to love car rides and what they meant.

We arrived home and brought her inside with us. She followed us right in, stepping through the front doorway with her little dipstick of a tail without feathers held high and wagging. We couldn’t believe how comfortable and confident she crossed into our home. She explored, we took her outside to go potty, and then, the puppy sleepiness hit. Without us prompting, she walked right into her “house,” curled up, and fell asleep. I think we whispered and stared at her the entire time she took that first nap.

That evening she was settling in her “house” for her first night, in a strange new place, with new smells and people, in a dark room. She was rightfully nervous and let out some whimpers and cries. I brought my pillow and laid down beside her, slipping my fingers in through the openings of the crate to stroke her muzzle and give her pets along her head and back. She settled and started to lightly chew on my fingers for comfort. She fell asleep with my index finger in her mouth. That’s when my love sparked for this new member of our family.

She grew up with us from puppyhood into the lanky phase, growing out her feathers, and then becoming an adult golden. She walked almost every day, 1 – 2 miles (usually one when she became older) always a priority to get her exercise, see the sights and smells, and go on a small journey with her family. Over the decade, we traveled thousands of miles on foot and paw. I could hold her leash with a single finger, and would often have her off leash on our neighborhood strolls, as she was that good. It’s funny how stubborn and hesitant she was on walks at first, with me again promising her that she would love these, and they would become a staple of both of our lives.

I watched her having to eat her food from a sheet pan, as the bowl rim was too high, to eating out of the bowl, to then eating from her own food station.

I watched her the very first time she climbed the entire set of stairs, my wife exclaiming “Babe, look!” after I got to the top, to see Summer following me. I saw two paws, then a nose, on repeat as she bounded up the steps to follow me. The sheer happiness when she got to the top and I gave her love! From that day forward, she could follow us anywhere in the house. As my Dad likes to say, “If you want to know where your golden is, look behind you.”

I watched her being able to sprawl out on a single step on the stairs, and then the day when she seemingly grew overnight and was unable to fit. She barked at the steps, angry that she couldn’t fit, I’m assuming thinking it was the steps’ fault and not her own growth.

I was with her the first time she swam, at our local state park. She was a little hesitant at first, with me again, ensuring her that she would grow to love it. She took to the water, swimmingly elegantly. You could only see her head, a stripe of her back and sometimes her tail as she swam, her legs doing all of the work under the water. She swam to me multiple times, and I held her in the water giving her love and praising her.

She hiked with us, one time joining on a 13-mile hike during a vacation, with plenty of water breaks and snacks along the way. She would climb rocks with me and a favorite of ours was a downed tree in the state park, propped up on its massive branches, the thick trunk suspended almost 10 feet in the air. She learned to scale the roots and base of the tree, and walk along it with me. She was hesitant the first time, and then would run to it when we saw it from then on, excited for me to help her up.

She kept my wife company through my second deployment, and was there for her when her father passed away, while I was thousands of miles away on a Navy ship. I was able to return for bereavement leave, and had comfort knowing that Summer was there for her while I was unable to be. She hugged her, kissed her, cried into her ears. Summer hated when my wife was upset, and would do anything to cheer her up, nuzzling her, licking her tears, and snuggling her.

While I was active duty, she would steal my blousing straps when I returned home from work. Our daily routine: I would sit on the bed to take off my boots. She would jump up and put her paws on my shoulder, giving me kisses. I would remove the blousing straps and she would steal them from my hand. Sometimes I would let them dangle from my mouth and she would take them, the entire time her tail wagging. Every single day, we would do this. I would change, and we would go for our walk, rain or shine, cold or heat; this was my promise to her.

Some of my fondest memories of Summer are with her in the snow. While it doesn’t snow too often where we live, we do occasionally get a snowfall. After a few years of it not snowing, Summer’s first winter was greeted with snow. We have a video of her encountering it the first time: pawing at it, sniffing it, getting into a play stance, running around in it and rolling in it. Pure bliss and joy, no baggage of the world, no pretense. Just pure fun, for the sake of fun. Whenever it would snow, we would wake up early and drive to the state park. We’d be bundled up, among the few people on the road and usually the only pawprints in the snow. Quiet and peaceful, a winter wonderland with branches covered in snowfall, dropping over the trail, the ground pure white. I’d occasionally hit a branch to watch the snow fall on her, making her turn circles and bark and prance and have fun. When she was older and had her full coat, we went during a snowfall, and she headed straight for the icy water. My wife was worried (this being her first dog, and first double coated dog at that) as Summer dived in and swam around. My wife was concerned it was too cold and she’d get hurt. Fittingly, Summer swam around, got out, and shook of the water. She came over to say hi and boop us, and then dove back in, as if to let her mom know she was just fine. She swam some more before we hiked on. Icicles froze from her chest feathers. I can’t think of more golden cred than that. The air was crisp and cold, and you could hardly hear anything other than our footsteps and paws in the snow. It was pure and blissful.

Summer was with me when I resigned my commission from the Navy, scared of taking that next step and moving towards a new life. She helped me reduce stress during my MBA, finding new roles, and navigating my new career. She gave us companionship during the lockdown. I’m  grateful we had her during that time, and our daily walks ensured we left the house.

Summer was our cooking buddy, always happy to take the ends of vegetables, lick the bowl of yogurt or some other food after we finished, try a bite of yummy pasta, or whatever dog- friendly treat came her way. She would eat an entire ear of corn on the cob as I held it and rotated it for her. Using her front teeth, she would bite and pull the entire kernel right down to the cob, ensuring nothing was left behind. She liked jalapeños and spicy foods. And her super power? She could crunch anything! We’re not sure how, but things that weren’t crunchy somehow were chomped by her with joy.

She got her “Oinker”, “Oinks”, and ‘Oinker Strudel” moniker because she oinked – seriously! When she was excited, mostly about the prospect of receiving / not so sneakily stealing some food, she would let out a snorting sound, usually in threes, that sounded very much like a pig oinking. Oink oink oink. She started this young and continued throughout her entire life. What’s humorous, is almost no one other than my wife and I have ever heard her Oink, leaving some to think it wasn’t real. I feel maybe it was meant for just the three of us to enjoy, an inside joke between us and a shorthand for excitement and glee.

Summer and I had a bond in that we would wrestle and roughhouse together. I would gently “slap” her jowls, riling her up. I would grab the top of her muzzle with my thumb squarely in her mouth and shake her head back and forth. I would hook my index finder around her canines and do the same. She would get excited, snarl, bark, growl, and play fight with me. She’d go after my hands, putting  almost their entirety in her mouth. We did this from a very young age, and not once, not a single time did she hurt me. With her jaws and canine teeth she could have easily cut, crushed, and injured my hand or fingers. She knew it was a game, a bond of trust we shared, and embraced it as such. I never felt nervous, never felt hesitant. I would snuggle with her, kiss her on the forehead and on her whiskers. She seemed to enjoy the affection and would nuzzle her face into mine when I was on the floor, asking for love, which I always obliged. While I know there are differing opinions on “play fighting” with your dog, I felt it brought us closer and built a trust between us. My wife could never quite get Summer to do this with her, as Summer knew she wasn’t committed to it and would lazily offer a half curled lip and perhaps a chuff and half-hearted bark. Some things were just meant for us two.

When she was a mature adult, she tore her Cranial Cruciate Ligament (CCL). Think of this like a human ACL. We were on a walk when we saw a squirrel. I let her off leash and told her to get it, like I had many times before. She ran towards the squirrel, chasing it up the tree. As she ran back to me, I told her to stop before she reached the sidewalk and the road. She came to a quick stop, as she had many times before. Except this time, her left rear leg was held up. I knew immediately that something was wrong. I called my wife to pick us up on the walk, and we rushed to our family-owned vet. The did some test and told us that she had torn her CCL. We had three options, let it heal on its own with the result of limited mobility, an invasive TPLO surgery, or Tight Rope surgery, a less invasive option with less clear results. With recommendation from our vet, we chose Tight Rope because of her health and fitness. I felt awful, like I had caused this injury and felt guilty. The vet ensured me that if it was going to happen, it would, and some dogs get it leaping off the couch. Due to the surgery schedule, we would have to wait a few months. We purchased her a custom brace, which stabilized her leg and allowed her to walk as she awaited surgery. We were diligent about putting it on and off, providing her comfort and ensuring it didn’t chafe.

We brought our girl in for surgery, and all went well. She had to be in a cast, and learned to move around with it. Unfortunately, she could not go on her usual walks with the cast, and we could tell she was getting depressed. We purchased her a large wagon, and I would pull her for the full one-mile walk. It looked silly, a couple pulling their golden in a wagon, but we didn’t care. We knew she needed it. Immediately, her spirits lifted. She sniffed, she felt the wind, she looked around. People came up and said hello, we even took her to the farmer’s market like this. Seeing her down broke our spirits, and we wanted to do what we could to lift them. Once she got her cast off, I was diligent in the physical therapy, ensuring I did all of the exercises three times daily as prescribed. I wanted to ensure that she was healthy and happy. She took to the therapy like a champ, never once yelping in pain or attempting to stop it. I believe she knew I was helping her recover and it became our new routine for a bit. I’ll be forever grateful for the vets returning our girl’s mobility and allowing her to run and play and romp and hike until her senior years. A year later, she tore her other CCL. This time, we were able to get the surgery immediately. Thankfully, we kept the wagon and were able to slip back into the routine. She fully recovered from the second surgery as well, being able to be active, healthy, and happy.

The humorous thing about her recovery is I had to carry her up and down the stairs when she had her cast on and could not navigate it alone. She detested being picked up, from a very early age. We called it “flying” and when asked if she wanted to “fly,” she would promptly give you her answer by walking away quickly. Fast forward years when this became a necessity for her to sleep in her bed in our room at night, to join us for work during the day, to be taken downstairs for food and potty breaks. I carried all 65 lbs. of her up and down the stairs. We called it the “Dadavator,” which she begrudgingly accepted. After he second surgery, we noticed during the recovery she was a little slow on climbing and coming down the stairs, and my being overly worried started asking if she wanted the “Dadavator.” She would stop at the stairs and look and wait for me, and, of course, I would perform my duty. When we went in for her post-surgery checkup and I told her vet this amusing story, he promptly told me to stop and that she needed to climb the stairs to build strength back; based on her mobility and recovery, she was fully able to do so but chose not to. Yes, Summer had bamboozled me into carrying her up and down the stairs for over a month, even though she hated being picked up. It appears an old dog can teach themselves some new tricks!

In the last few years, she navigated this crazy world with us by providing comfort during some of our hardest days. My wife experienced two miscarriages on our journey to parenthood. Summer was there both times, ears ready, to comfort my wife. 10 weeks into our third pregnancy, my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer, and during surgery, a complication landed her in the ICU for three days, intubated. When I was able to go home and see Summer, I hugged and kissed her and thanked her for being our dog. She was always with us during chemo days, when we would be cold-capping to preserve my wife’s hair during the process. My wife, always faithful to Summer, ordered UV-protective hats and would walk with Summer right after her last cold cap, ensuring that she still received her daily walks.

Summer was there when our daughter was born 6 weeks early and had to spend two weeks in the ICU. The very first night in the hotel, my wife cried out for Summer, wanting her there for comfort and companionship. The bond they had was immeasurable. We brought our daughter home, a shock to all of us having been a family unit for 9 years. She was so excited from the moment she met her, and most importantly, so gentle. She knew our daughter was of us, and ensured that she always gave her love. She licked and kissed her the very first day. She would lay besides her. The first thing she would do every morning was walk toward our daughter’s room to check on her and perform the morning routine.

As our daughter grew, we called Summer “Sister,” to which she would exclaim, “SIS!”. Our daughter would sneak her berries, a favorite of both of theirs, pancakes, or any other numerous snacks that she had. She would hug her, snuggle with her and pet her. Because of Summer, our daughter loves dogs. She must say hi to every dog she sees, and is upset when she can’t. She does not know that every dog is not like Summer in temperament, but due to the endless love that Summer brought to our family, this is what she believes.

She would wake up almost every morning with “thunkas” as she ran her side along the bedframe or the wall, slapping her tail against it to make noise and proclaim it was time to get up. “Thunka thunka thunka,” I can still haer it, and would give anything to hear it again.

Summer had a way of snuggling where she would “nook” into you. She would fall into you, ensuring that every bit of her that she could have touching you was. I would love to sit on the couch and pet her while she did this. Stroking her side, rubbing her ears, and just giving her comfort and affection. Arguably, I may have received more from her than I gave. She calmed me, steadied my mind, gave me a sense of peace. She helped me feel and opened me up. I softened. I credit her to this and for that I’m thankful.

When she was older and we got a bed that was higher, she couldn’t quite jump up into it comfortably. We ordered her steps, which we lovingly called “old lady steps” so she could get into bed. While she was never shy about snuggling, for some reason she would wait until the lights were out to climb up and into bed with us. My wife and I would always laugh as we heard Summer’s trepidation of getting onto the steps, and then not so sneakily entering the bed to come snuggle with us.

I have so many fond memories of Summer throughout the years, so many smiles and laughs, and countless I can’t recall because of the volume of good times we had. She never showed she was ill or in pain. The morning of her passing, she did her usual routine, ate a full breakfast, licked the yogurt bowl. My wife said goodbye, told her she loved her, and they would be going on a walk after she ran her errands. She returned home a few hours later with treats for Summer, but unfortunately, they would not be able to take that walk.

Our home now feels empty. Everywhere I look, I have a memory, a reminder of her. I constantly put my hand out to pet her. I expect her under my desk while I’m working. I look for her around the corners, I expect her to be on the couch with us or under our feet. I go to say things that I would say to her such as “time to go night-night potty” or “time for breakfast.” She’s been so engrained in my life that it’s difficult to accept that she’s not going to be there anymore.

I feel for those who have never known the love that comes from a dog, and I envy those who have never known the deep and full pain that comes from losing that love.

I will always remember my Baby Gurl, my Golden Gal, my Old Lady. I love you Summer, now, and forever.