Things Calvin Saw

This is a drawing from Bill Watterson's 3160th and final Calvin and Hobbes strip, published on December 31, 1995. In it, Calvin and Hobbes trek through newly-fallen snow and wonder aloud about the possibilities that await them: "Everything familiar has disappeared! The world looks brand new!"

When I was 9 years old, I went with my parents to a farm in rural Illinois and picked out a nervous-looking shetland sheepdog puppy to take home. My sisters and cousins met us at the car and we proceeded to fawn over him for 13 years. Although we named him Calvin-- after the adventure-seeking and spunky cartoon character-- it soon became clear that our Calvin was nothing of the sort. He was timid and yippy, a methodical herder who was only happy when the whole family was indoors and safe from the suburban children and squirrels waiting outside. This week, Calvin died, on the eve of his 13th birthday.

2007: Calvin in local paper under the caption "Hairy Potter"

Our dogs become like family by providing a warm and steady presence in our lives. But dogs do something else as well: they watch us. In fact, house dogs are privy to some of the most private and raw moments of human existence. They watch us eat and get naked and get desperately ill. They're startled awake by our slamming doors, they see us in pajamas and prom dresses, they wander over from the corner as we stub our toe and collapse in tears about the incivility of the universe. We mourn our pets when they've reached the end, but I think we're also mourning the things they saw.

1999: Calvin, Anna and Catie on Christmas morning.

For his part, Calvin saw our family across 5 houses in 3 different states. He saw several tornadoes, a hurricane that sent a tree into our roof, a few flooded basements, and at least one "the-cat-is-on-fire" incident. In all likelihood, he saw my first kiss. He saw my little sister Anna grow three feet. He saw our family shrink, and like us, smelled the flowers that filled every corner of the house when we lost one of our own. He saw me leave the house at 4:30 am for swim practice and return with icicles dangling from my hair. He sat in my room as I packed quickly for college, and again as I unpacked slowly 4 years later.

2007: Calvin and Hobbes in a snowstorm.

I suppose Calvin could have been more adventurous, or you know, at least able to walk on a leash without wiggling out to run home and sit patiently on the doorstep. But I think I'd rather have a dog who provides a warm, fuzzy sense of home when I return from my own adventures/misadventures. In that respect, Calvin was absolutely perfect.