Growing up, I always had a dog in our family. My mom was especially fond of schnauzers, so I spent a lot of time walking, feeding, and bonding with a gray-haired, old-man-looking dog. One dog, Charlie Brown, had been part of our family long before I was born, and we grew up together. Losing him was devastating. I couldn’t imagine life without my dear Charlie by my side.
Fast forward to adulthood, when I became a mother of three. My daughters had been begging for a pet for years, but it wasn’t until I was pregnant with their brother, Jake, that they thought they might get one. But even after he was born, the quest for a family dog didn’t stop.
When Jake turned two, Arman (my husband) and I finally agreed. We found a Cavalier King Charles spaniel and poodle mix who had been left behind by a breeder in Ohio. Not only was he the runt of the litter, but he also hadn’t been adopted yet, which felt like fate. Despite Arman not being an animal lover, when he saw the picture of the puppy online, he just said, “That’s our dog.”
We named him Duke, after a character from a movie the kids loved. And although he was small, his name was mighty.
As our children grew, Duke was by my side through every milestone. He was there every morning when the school bus pulled away and just as excited as I was when the kids returned home, ready for their snacks. He patiently watched over the house, always loyal, always present.
Enter Parkinson’s
In 2009, our lives took a turn when Arman was diagnosed with early-onset Parkinson’s disease. And over time, I noticed something about Duke. As Arman’s symptoms became more pronounced—his right leg kicking up when he walked, his movements slower and more uncertain—Duke seemed to understand that something was wrong.
There was a certain way he would look at Arman, his cataract-covered eyes filled with a kind of quiet concern. It was almost as if Duke knew that Arman was in pain, but couldn’t quite figure out why. As Arman’s symptoms became more obvious, Duke adjusted his behavior to match. If Arman was walking and his leg would kick up, Duke would keep his distance to prevent himself from tripping him. And when Arman would sleep in his recliner, Duke was often right nearby, watching over him quietly from a distance.
It’s hard to put into words, but there was a palpable bond between them. Though Arman would probably never admit it, I think Duke’s presence had a calming effect on him.
I’ve been learning a lot about service dogs and how they help people with Parkinson’s and similar conditions. I’ve even thought that maybe a service dog could be a good addition for Arman. But honestly, it’s hard to imagine finding a dog quite as special as Duke. He’s not just any dog—he’s family. And sometimes, it feels like he was sent to us for a reason.
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