Bongo decided to flop down in front of the door after his walk one afternoon and refused to budge. Our walks were always … adventuresome.

A week before Christmas, I found out that my friend Ryan’s beagle, Bongo, had lung cancer. I found out last night that they had to put him down on Wednesday. Bongo wasn’t my dog, but Ryan and I shared a townhouse right after I had graduated from college when he adopted the beagle, so I helped raise him for a couple years, and I certainly had a strong attachment to him.

One of my earliest memories of Bongo was the morning after Ryan brought him home. I had gone to work shortly after he brought Bongo home the evening before, so I saw little of the beagle. The next morning, while I was still fast asleep, the beagle pushed open my door, darted into the room, jumped onto my bed, and stuck his nose in my face to say hi. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, though it took some doing for the beagle and me to get comfortable with each other. Bongo was the first large pet I lived with, and it took a while for me to adjust to him. Before that, my strongest memories of dogs was being snapped at by one on my first night in the United States and being chased by two of them while at a garage sale when I was young. After we got Bongo, I had to learn to beagle-proof the house (he loved getting into trash cans and looted the pantry on multiple occasions when we didn’t close the door all the way). He wasn’t exactly the smartest dog, he frequently tried to steal food from your plate when you weren’t looking, and we didn’t exactly get off to a great start as he was quite territorial for a while while trying to declare himself second-in-command of the house behind Ryan.

Our walks were almost always adventuresome, as ol’ beagle tended to follow his nose and pay heed to little else. On one of the first times I took him out for a walk, someone had thrown out a Bojangles bag in the middle the road with a biscuit still inside, and the moment Bongo caught whiff of that crack-seasoning goodness, he made a bee line for it with such determination and will that he dragged me with him, and I simply couldn’t pull him away from the bag. Eventually all I could do was stand there and greet passing vehicles — which had to veer into the other lane to go around us — with a sheepish grin. Yet, over time, Bongo and I grew close, and even years after I had moved away, he was always excited to see me whenever I visited.

Finding out that Bongo had cancer left me stunned, and though I had accepted that the probable end was likely soon to come, it still doesn’t make it any easier to lose an old friend. I hadn’t had a chance to touch base with Ryan since the holidays, and now I wish I had gone to see Bongo sometime in the last couple weeks. At least I can find a little bit of comfort in knowing that he is no longer suffering from his ailment, and that he led a very pampered life after he was adopted. Ever since I lived with Bongo, every time I see someone walking a beagle while I’m driving/biking/walking, I can’t help but smile and think of my old beagle pal, and it’ll be even more so now.

A few more Bongo pictures from over the years:

From left: JC, Ryan, Bongo, and me after a few drinks, circa 2006.

Bongo loved his  milkbones.