Goodbye Tigger: How a Yorkie Changed My View of the World
Tigger was more than a little Yorkie with a soft coat and kingly strut. His life — and his passing — reminded me that being human is less about the tools we build and more about the relationships we cherish.
I struggle with where to begin my blog posts for this site. I considered many options from technological innovations and their consequences to stories of families embracing multi-generational living, to my own back story. Yet, the truth is that one story sits most heavily on my mind right now, so I am sharing that. And perhaps, that is the most important story to begin with anyway.
Earlier this month, I did something I had been dreading for weeks. I drove our 17-year-old Yorkie, Tigger, to the vet one last time. His health had declined rapidly . He accumulated a tangle of issues that no longer had solutions, only accommodations. We had tried, as long as possible, to give him comfort: soft food, carried walks, late night accident cleanup. But the truth became unavoidable. His quality of life had slipped beyond what was fair to ask of him.
Letting him go was heartbreaking. But it also made me reflect on how my relationship with our dogs — and really with the very idea of “pets” — has changed over the years.
Before the Pandemic: Dogs as Background
For most of my life, I loved our dogs in the way many people do. They were there, happy to see me when I came home, always part of the family but never fully woven into the rhythm of my day. I fed them, petted them, took them outside but I didn’t really know them.
Looking back, it was as if their personalities were muted by my absence. Workdays away from home, evenings filled with errands, weekends always too short. The dogs were loved, yes, but in the background.
During the Pandemic: Dogs as Companions
Then came COVID. Suddenly I was home all day. And what surprised me most wasn’t the change in my work routine, it was how much I learned about my dogs.
I discovered they each had entirely unique personalities:
- Tigger was soft like a bunny rabbit, happiest when carried in my arms, prancing around the house like he owned the castle.
- Our other Yorkie, Lil’ Dog, in contrast, was timid, fiercely independent, and terrified of every loud sound. When a thunderstorm strikes, he finds his way to my lap faster than a race car. When we had our roof replaced, he was inconsolable.
Spending hours side by side, I saw quirks, habits, and moods that I had missed for years. They weren’t just “the dogs.” They were companions, each with a presence that filled the house in its own way. Somewhere in those long months, the relationship deepened from affection to attachment.
A Larger Shift: Pets as Family
I know I’m not alone in this. During the pandemic, millions of Americans adopted pets, and those who already had them found themselves bonding in new ways. Pets shifted roles in households: from animals we own to family members we live with.
The data bears this out: spending on pets has surged, pet insurance is booming, and industries from doggy daycare to luxury food have exploded. But beneath the economics is something more meaningful: a cultural shift in how we see animals and what they mean in our lives.
For many Millennials and Gen Z, who are delaying marriage, having fewer children, and redefining family, pets have become emotional anchors, companions, and even surrogates for roles once reserved for children.
What Tigger Taught Me
Walking through Tigger’s final months, and ultimately saying goodbye, reminded me of something essential. Our relationships, whether with people or pets, are fragile, unpredictable, and deeply formative.
Tigger taught me patience when his health required constant care. He taught me joy when he strutted around like the king of the house, even in his old age. He taught me that love often shows up in small, daily acts of presence.
And in losing him, I was reminded of how quickly time moves, and how important it is to treasure the bonds that make life meaningful.
Beyond Fear, Toward Hope
Some fear the pace of technology and change, worrying about what humanity might lose. I understand that fear. And I also believe in hope. For nearly 80 years, we have lived with the possibility of self-destruction through nuclear weapons. The technology was there, but humanity chose restraint, and many historical events bare this out.
I believe we will face similar crossroads with today’s technologies and that we can choose wisely. The lessons of love, loyalty, and connection, even across species, matter more than ever.
Closing Reflection
In a world shaped by silicon, it is bonds like the one I shared with Tigger that remind me what it means to have a soul. He may have been a little Yorkie with a soft coat and a kingly attitude, but his impact was far greater.
Goodbye, Tigger. You reminded me that being human is less about the tools we build and more about the relationships we cherish.