Cal

“There’s another hole in the world today. We said goodbye to our beloved Cal, the first life Brad and I brought home together as a couple. We adopted him at just 6 weeks old from a rescue in Yorba Linda, California, in 2011. We’d driven out there intending to meet another dog I was ready to name Bobby Brown. But that dog wasn’t around—either he was out, or maybe just *too* Bobby Brown for us—and instead, we met this adorable little runt named Elmer. He stole our hearts, and we left with him that day. Getting a second dog was a decision born out of wanting to take the next step with Brad, though I always felt like Sandy was the only dog I needed. While I took great care of Cal and snuggled hard with him, I stayed obsessed with Sandy. He felt like *my* dog, and Cal was *ours.* When Sandy died in 2020, I didn’t think I could ever love a dog as much. But Cal, in his quiet, steady way, never gave up on me—he chased my heart until it caught him. We named him Cal for a few reasons: Brad’s favorite baseball player, Cal Ripken Jr.; our California home; and because he reminded us of Caleb Nichol from *The O.C.* (a fitting pair with our other dog, Sandy Cohen). From the start, Cal was a little nervous and stuck close to me. That first year, I’d take Sandy and Cal out without leashes—Sandy was perfect off-leash, and Cal wouldn’t leave my side. That is, until the day we bought a new pool-blue couch from CB2. I’d taken them out ahead of the delivery, knowing Cal might get spooked. But the deliverymen were early, and as soon as Cal saw the couch on a dolly, he bolted—straight across a bustling Cahuenga Blvd. Watching him dart through traffic was like seeing a real-life version of *Frogger*. When he made it across, he strutted up and down the sidewalk, so proud of himself. Suffice it to say, I never took him or Sandy out without a leash again. Cal was a true survivor his whole life. He braved a cross-country trip from LA to New York, and years later, when Sandy passed, he became my constant companion during remote work. Then came our biggest move yet—to South Korea. So many people told us not to take him, to rehome him—that he wouldn’t survive the trip. But Cal proved the naysayers wrong again. When he arrived in Korea, he was thrilled to see us, and he truly thrived during those three years. All Cal ever wanted was to be with us in a peaceful setting, and say what you will about South Korea, but it was a peaceful life. When he was finally diagnosed with Cushing’s (something his US vets never caught), he found a second—or maybe third or fourth—wind. Later, when we made the decision to move back to the U.S., he again proved everyone wrong by not only surviving but continuing to live with that same resilient spirit. Through it all, Cal never stopped wanting to snuggle, offering quiet, unwavering comfort. Looking back, even though we named him Cal, he never stopped being Elmer—the glue that held us together. I grew up with the movie *All Dogs Go to Heaven* (1989), and maybe that’s true. But for the past 13+ years, in his own way, Cal brought heaven to us.”