RIP to Teddy’s Doghouse… 🐶💔
It was a humble structure. Wooden, slightly lopsided, and painted a cheerful red that had faded into a soft pink over the years. Teddy’s doghouse wasn’t fancy, but it had history. It was his kingdom, his fortress, and occasionally, his hiding place when he knew he’d been up to no good.
Teddy, my 7-year-old Saint Bernard, was a gentle giant. Too big for most things, including laps, couches, and technically — his doghouse. When we first brought him home as a puppy, the doghouse looked massive in our backyard. He could run circles around it and still have room to do cartwheels (if he’d had the coordination). But over the years, Teddy grew into a lumbering, fluffy beast. The doghouse stayed the same.
He never minded. Rain or shine, he’d curl up inside — or at least mostly inside — with his giant head usually sticking out like a doorstop. He stored his favorite things there: half-chewed tennis balls, the occasional sock, and a surprisingly well-preserved peanut butter jar he refused to let go of. It was his spot. Until last Saturday.
It started with a storm warning. Thunderstorms were rolling in, and like many big dogs, Teddy wasn’t a fan of loud booms in the sky. As the clouds darkened and the wind picked up, I figured he’d come inside like he usually did when weather turned nasty. But for some reason, Teddy stood his ground — or more accurately, his doghouse.
As the wind howled and rain started coming down in sideways sheets, I watched from the kitchen window as Teddy curled up in front of the doghouse, clearly hoping it would offer some shelter. It did not.
The wind bent trees, overturned trash bins, and flung a neighbor’s patio umbrella into our backyard like a javelin. Then, just as a loud crack of thunder echoed across the sky, a massive gust swept across the yard — and lifted the roof off Teddy’s doghouse. Literally. The top half flew five feet into the air and landed upside-down in a puddle. The walls crumpled. One side split clean in half.
Teddy jumped up in shock, shook off the rain, and bolted for the back door. I let him in, towel ready, and we both stared back at the yard. What was once his cozy shelter now looked like the remains of a miniature barn after a tornado.
“RIP to Teddy’s doghouse…” I muttered.
He gave a mournful sigh, which I swear was a mix of disappointment and relief. He knew it was time.
The next morning, once the skies had cleared and the ground turned from soup back to soil, I dragged what was left of the doghouse to the curb. Teddy watched me the whole time, tail low, like we were holding a tiny backyard funeral. I half expected taps to start playing in the background.
But loss brings opportunity. That afternoon, Teddy followed me to the garage, where I laid out plans for The New House. Bigger. Stronger. Insulated. With a sloped roof, proper flooring, and — yes — a small fan for the summer. Teddy sniffed the wood pile, wagged his tail slowly, and gave a single approving bark.
It’s been a week since the storm. The new doghouse is almost done, and Teddy inspects the progress daily like a furry foreman. We even plan to mount a little memorial sign on the fence nearby:
“In memory of The First House. It served, it stood, it splintered with dignity.”
Sometimes it takes a storm to clear the way for something better. But we’ll never forget the original. RIP to Teddy’s doghouse — gone, but never drooled on again.
