Tribute to Homer- the World's Greatest Dog

On Sunday, May 13, 2006 our beloved dog Homer died suddenly and unexpectedly while we were entertaining my parents near Lake Balaton in Hungary. Two weeks later and after a complete autopsy, I still only vaguely understand how he died, and I definitely still have not come to accept that our constant companion is now gone. We are told that Homer died because his thymus - a body part that I had never even heard of prior to this nightmare - ruptured suddenly. He went into a state of shock, and in a matter of moments died in our arms in a parking lot outside of the restaurant where we had been having lunch. Our tragedy played out in front of the restaurant staff and other diners - some of whom tried to help us out while others continued to enjoy their meals.

Someone at the restaurant called a vet, but it was futile, he died in a matter of moments. Even though there was no way the vet could have helped, I did not take kindly to the excruciatingly slow pace the vet took in driving into the parking lot, removing his headphones and getting out of his car. This was my boy dying on my lap; could this bastard at least show some urgency?

That Sunday was the one-year anniversary of the day we took Homer home with us from the farm in PA where he was born, and we had just given him a rubber ball on a rope as a little anniversary present. Only minutes before his death, he had been running around and playing with his new ball, looking strong, healthy, and as handsome as ever. We could not believe that just one year ago, to the day, he was sitting on our laps in the car, heading towards his new home with us in DC. We were back in the car together, but this time he was stretched out on our laps, his short but happy life brought to a cruel conclusion after just one short year.

In just one short year, we had had so many cracking good times and had been through so much together. Since Homer’s death, Jen and I have spent every day reminiscing about all the good times we had with him. Homer came into my life just months after I was diagnosed with MS (Multiple Sclerosis), and, though I’m sure the neurologists would say that the horrific fatigue and lack of energy I suffered from improved due to medicine, I would argue that Homer played a role in my improvement as well. Physical well being and mental well-being are closely intertwined. Being around Homer every day made me happy, and happiness certainly contributes to healthiness.

Homer shared all of our highs and lows. I was not home when Jen took her first pregnancy test, so Homer was the first to share Jen’s news that she was pregnant. Since she was excited, he was too. We envisioned our future child growing up with Homer; he would have made a great big brother. He shared in all our news and could read our moods. Every time he heard me celebrating one of my team’s goals or runs, he would come running over and to share in my excitement. If he heard me yell, throw something or argue with Jen, he would always become anxious and come over with a look of concern. He did not like strife.

Tears flowed as we recounted all of his endearing habits. For example, Homer used to scamper into my bathroom whenever he’d hear me brushing my teeth, because he knew that after I brushed, he would get his teeth brushed with the peanut butter flavored dog toothpaste he liked so much. Of course, it was always a test of wills between us, I’d be trying to brush and he’d be trying to eat the toothbrush, but it was always good fun. After Homer’s teeth were brushed, he’d have his final evening walk, after which, he would drag his fluffy bed upstairs in his teeth and proceed to hump it vigorously for 5-10 minutes before sighing deeply and then collapsing in a heap for his deep evening sleep.

Homer would usually spend most of the night on the floor or on his bed, but after I’d return from my very early morning trip to the bathroom, he’d usually wait until I was tucked back into bed and then prop his two huge front paws up on my side of the bed. The bed was somewhat high for him to get up on his own unless he got a good running start. He quickly learned two things - that I’m a light sleeper in the morning, and Jen is not. So, he’d sit there looking at me, as if to say, you gonna hoist my ass up there or not, pops? I’d hoist him up, and he’d usually nestle himself somewhere at the foot of the bed on Jen’s side, which allowed him more space, due to her diminutive size. But after a little while, he’d usually come up near me on my side of the bed and want to sleep up against me, his head down near my armpit. I would tuck my arm around him and grab a handful of the fur on his 21-inch neck. This was him, not so subtlety, letting me know that he was ready for his breakfast, preferably sooner rather than later. He knew better than to bother his mom before 7am on weekdays, and closer to 8am on weekends.

As his trainer said, he had a strong drive for food and a strong drive for play. If I could describe a perfect day from Homer’s perspective, it would include all of the following: being fed copious amounts of food but also serendipitously finding food on the ground or elsewhere; lying on his back in the bed getting his belly rubbed by both Jen and I at the same time; playing with other dogs and people - especially if they would chase him and try to pry one of his toys or a stick from his mouth; and basking in the adulation of anyone and everyone he met on the street.

People often say that people resemble their dogs. In my case, I could have only dreamed for this to be actually true. From the very first day we had Homer, to his very last, he was like a little celebrity, who basked in attention everywhere he went. Just minutes before he died, the waitresses at the restaurant were making a fuss over him and how nagyon szep (very beautiful) he was. He loved people, he loved dogs, he loved every living thing he encountered, and everyone seemed to gravitate to him. Jennifer and I often felt like members of his entourage, as people would rush up to him, as though they had seen a celebrity. When he was a puppy, it was seriously difficult to take him some places. I recall one busy Saturday afternoon when we left the pier area in Old Town Alexandria because we could not walk more than 10 paces at a time before a crowd would form around him. Of course, Homer always had time for his adoring fans. He absolutely basked in the attention, sometimes to a ridiculous degree. There is something just a bit odd when your dog is rollicking around on his back on the sidewalk getting his stomach rubbed by someone he just met. But we usually rolled with it.

Other than his dislike for having his ears cleaned and his phobia of escalators, he was utterly fearless - trips to the doctor, thunder, and fireworks did not scare him in the least. One of his greatest joys, which we only recently discovered due to Hungary’s extremely mild winter, was snow. He saw snow for the first time on a hike in the Sumava forrest in Bohemia and went nuts, rolling around and frolicking on just a small little patch of it, deliriously happy. All I could think of was, I can’t wait till Homer gets to see his first snow storm. Sadly, we will now never get that chance.


Having Homer actually forced us to interact with people, and, in a way, he made us more sociable and nicer people. Well, in truth, Jen has always been nice, but I was never previously known for making small talk with strangers on the street. We knew no one in our Washington neighborhood before we got him, but within a matter of weeks of having him, people who did not even look familiar to me would ask me on the street, “hey where’s Homer?” if I was walking alone. Hungarians adore dogs, and Homer was very well, and favorably, known in our neighborhood. Homer liked to be out in the yard to greet neighbors and neighbor dogs at the gate as they walked by. If he was not in the yard, people would often call out for him at our front gate. No one, save our immediate next-door neighbors, knows my name, but I would say that at least half of the neighborhood knows Homer’s, and amongst dog owners, the figure is close to 100%. I’m supposed to be the diplomat in the family, but the truth is that the United States could not find a better diplomat to represent our country than Homer. I cannot even estimate how many lives Homer touched in his year on this planet. He brought smiles to people’s faces every single day of his life. People would smile at him and then smile at us, and it would make us feel good.

Though I had a great dog growing up, I was only partially responsible for taking care of her, and I did not have her as a puppy, so Homer brought me my first taste of responsibility. I could never imagined how much work training a puppy would be, especially in the small apartment we used to live in, but I soon realized something surprising about myself - I liked the responsibility that came with having someone that was dependent upon me. Homer changed our lives for the better; with him, we were a family, whereas before we were just a couple.

Like anyone that really loves their dog, we considered Homer to be a part of our family. Whenever Jen and I would give each other a hug or kiss, he would scurry over, jump up on us, and insist on getting in on the action. We loved Homer so much, we took him everywhere with us; he never saw the inside of a kennel. In just one year, Homer traveled more than most Americans do in a lifetime. He lived in Washington DC and Budapest, traveled to Virginia, Ohio, New York, West Virginia, Maryland, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Maine, Quebec, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Slovakia, Germany, Czech Republic and all over Hungary. But it wasn’t just the trips and special occasions that we will remember - it’s the fact that he made our boring every day routine infinitely more bright, happy and tolerable.


Homer had more nicknames than all the WWF wrestlers combined. There was Home, Homie, Homes, Homer Lee, Homer Lee Booty, Homercito, Osito Cheese, Pockets, Peanut Butter Boy, Maharaja, Maharishi, Handsome Homer (often times abbreviated HH) and many more that I can’t remember at the moment. We also used to call him the “best dog in the world,” and he was.

Homer loved us as much as we loved him. He was gentle, playful, loyal and, above all, fun. He did not walk; he swaggered, with his whole body kind of gyrating back and forth like a slinky. When he was particularly happy, his tail would wag so mightily that his whole body would sway violently along with it. He was also incredibly adaptable - he was happy to be wherever we were. He liked to stay in hotels and he never once caused any damage. We babied him and protected him as if he was our child. One time in Rock Creek Park in Washington, a dog that was off leash viciously attacked him, and I came close to throttling the dog’s absent minded owner. Homer and I had a ritual in greeting each other when I came home. He would go berserk and I’d get down on the floor and join him, often rolling around with him and playing rough, even if I was in a business suit. Even when I’d come home from work stressed out and with a headache, it did not matter, my boy would always be there with a toy in his mouth, thrilled to see me. How could you not love someone that would get so deliriously happy to see you? His favorite words in life were “breakfast”, “dinner”, and “Dad/Mom’s home.”

There were only a few occasions when Homer was unhappy with me, and they all involved him getting his ears cleaned. The first time it happened, he held a grudge against me for hours, and would not- gasp- accept treats from me. He just kind of glared at me like, dude, stay the hell away from me! I was crushed, but we eventually found a better way to clean his ears and there was never a glitch in our relationship again.

So, you get the point. We loved this dog; too much probably. Now we find ourselves lost and grieving, feeling incomplete and not understanding how or why this could happen. We see homeless people on the street with dogs that barely get fed, who live for years and years, and our dog, who lived like a Prince, dies at age 1, on the one year anniversary of us having him? How can that be? We are filled with grief, and there really are no answers. Losing a great dog is always hard, but at such a young age, the tragedy stings harder and is impossible to swallow. Homer was full of life and energy up until moments before he died.

I would trade all of the material possessions we have in the world to have our Homer back, but tragically, there is no way to make that kind of trade. Happiness can be an elusive concept for many people. Its not easy to define what would make you happy in life- is it your career, is it money, free time, your family? Would a million dollars make you happy? I don’t know- but I know that Homer made happiness a very tangible and real concept for us. We were happier when he was there with us- front paws perched up on the bed looking up at us, sitting by the kitchen counter trying to look pitiful, waiting gleefully for me by the door with a toy in his mouth- and he was always with us, so we were usually happy. There was always something really comforting in just having him around.

If there is only one tiny nugget that consoles me, it is knowing that dogs - unlike humans - live life without regrets. Homer did exactly what he wanted nearly every waking moment of his short life, and he was hardly ever alone. Knowing the way he used to greet us after only a short time away from home, I can only hope and pray that we can meet again in the afterlife, because I would truly love to see the kind of greeting that he has in store for us. God bless Homer, as I used to sing to him many times in happier days, he’s the Best Dog in the World.

Note: If you enjoyed reading this, you would honor Homer by forwarding this message, particularly to any friends, relatives, co-workers, etc, who love dogs, and especially to those that have lost dogs. As we grieve for our lost boy, it would comfort us to know that we are not the only ones that loved our dog(s) this much.