In Memoriam

The loss of a dog has always been painful

It is a week of sadness in the Rees family household. Our eldest dog, Gus, was put to sleep on Saturday due to ongoing and unmanageable pain, combined with an almost constant array of panic attacks.

RIP Gus (2011-2025)

Gus has been there by my side through it all: when I became a dad for the first time, when I began writing my first book, when I moved the family across the country and began my PhD, surviving Covid, right through to my first academic job and beyond. I, in turn, was there with him right to the end, holding him close as the vet brought his life to a peaceful end.

I have nothing clever or insightful to say on this experience, nor indeed do I want to use it to spark a long historical article here about canine-human relationships in the past. Instead, I just want to reflect on the pain of losing a family member, my best friend. It is a pain humans have been dealing with for millennia.

Below are some epitaphs, actual or described, from the ancient world, all dedicated to beloved dogs whose loss was felt no doubt as strongly as mine is now.

Behold the tomb of Aeolis, the cheerful little dog, whose loss to fleeting fate pained me beyond measure. (AE 1994.0348)

In this place lies a little dog after an accomplished life, and sweet honey covers his body [sc. to preserve it?]. His name was Fuscus, and he was eighteen years old. Barely could he move his limbs in his old age (AE 1994.699)

The stone says that it holds here the white dog from Malta, Eumelus’ most faithful guardian. They called him “Bull”, while he was still alive; but now the silent paths of night hold his voice. (Anth. Pal. 7.21)

Gaul gave me my birth and the pearl-oyster from the seas full of treasure my name, an honour fitting to my beauty. I was trained to run boldly through strange forests and to hunt out furry wild beasts in the hills never accustomed to be held by heavy chains nor endure cruel beatings on my snow-white body. I used to lie on the soft lap of my master and mistress and knew to go to bed when tired on my spread mattress and I did not speak more than allowed as a dog, given a silent mouth No-one was scared by my barking but now I have been overcome by death from an ill-fated birth and earth has covered me beneath this small piece of marble. (BM 1756,0101.1126)

How sweet and friendly she was! While she was alive she used to lie in the lap, always sharing sleep and bed. What a shame, Midge, that you have died! You would only bark if some rival took the liberty of lying up against your mistress. What a shame, Midge, that you have died! The depths of the grave now hold you and you know nothing about it. You cannot go wild nor jump on me, and you do not bare your teeth at me with bites that do not hurt. (CIL XIII 488)