Napster the dog
I grew up afraid of dogs. All of my earliest memories of them are of fear; I found their interest unwelcome, their barking frightening, their every move a potential precursor to an act of aggression.
I don't know where exactly this fear came from. My parents have offered varying explanations over the years but it mostly seems to come down to the neighbor down the hall of the apartment where I was a very small child having an unpleasant and aggressive dog. And there were various events that really did happen as an adult that kept me afraid - big dogs suddenly snarling and lunging at me from close quarters, near misses often drawn short only by an owner reacting quickly or by the dog's own tether being just shy of bite radius.
In any event, I just remember always wanting to avoid them. I remember seeing them in parks in New York and wanting to get away; remember visiting my childhood friends in Tokyo and hiding from their German Shepherd; remember being confused and frankly upset as to why people chose not only to associate with these animals but to inflict them on friends, neighbors - even strangers.
In the midst of the Covid pandemic, Kate suggested we get a dog. I had not been coping well, in spite of outside appearences...these were also days in which I was drinking heavily and constantly. The choice wasn't exactly divorce or getting a dog, but it wasn't that far off either. I said yes. And so Napster the corgi entered our lives.
Even as a tiny puppy, I felt the same...nervousness and fear around Napster that I'd felt around other dogs my entire life. Although he was unbearably cute, he had little daggers for teeth and hadn't learned bite inhibition yet. Kate took to wearing gardening gloves when she played with him, as it was the only way to spend time with him without emerging with hands that were bloody and raw.
Gradually, however, I grew to understand his body language. And with it, to understand him. And in understanding one dog, I found that I could now understand all dogs. At least, I could read their body language - could understand when a dog was happy and feeling friendly and social, or more anxious, or hostile.
Napster himself was...complicated. He would become anxious and vomit, which he would then eat. He was prone to resource guarding, particularly discarded pieces of food he found on the streets of East London that we really didn't want him to eat like banana peels and discarded pieces of chicken. He was prone to seeking out fox poop like a hound and rolling in it until he ran up to us, happy as a clam, smelling like vinegar and nightmares.
While these were in abstract forgivable traits, he had one unforgivable trait: he bit. Hard, fast, and without restraint. While corgis are famous for nipping - which he also did plenty of - his bites were true aggression bites, deep enough to consistently penetrate clothes, draw blood, and on more than one occassion send the recipient to A&E.
His biting as a puppy was unacceptable but comparatively infrequent, but it escalated significantly when Kate got pregnant with our son. He would guard her and any areas he perceived as associated with her, like our bed or the sofa.
His biting was also unpredictable, and could at times have no particular trigger. I remember one evening really clearly - sitting and watching The Bear on the couch with Kate, when he simply charged at me while I sat working on my laptop and started biting me over and over until Kate chased him out of the room.
When Finn arrived, Napster was very sweet and protective of him, so something about the pregnancy did translate correctly. Unfortunately, this meant he was likely to bite other people near Finn if either of them got too excited. Eventually we decided it was simply better to keep them apart.
Over time, these accommodations to Napster's risk grew to be pervasive - we had to be careful who walked him, who could be in a room with him unaccompanied, who could house-sit for us when we were gone, etc. As his bite record grew, the list of people we could involve him with shrank until it became clear that our lives were no longer workable with him in it.
We didn't jump straight to trying to re-home him - we employed trainers, behaviorists, and even sent him to a 6-week intensive re-training camp up in Nottingham for reactive dogs. While these helped with "managing" him, they didn't fix the core issue - and the behaviorists in particular were both useless and inclined to blame us for the fact that our dog bit people.
Ultimately it became clear he would need either to be re-homed or put down. Our attempts to re-home him were frustrating...people could be well-meaning but without really understanding the reality of having a reactive/aggressive dog. We finally found a couple who had experience with aggressive dogs and corgis, but after six months they called us to say they hadn't been able to fix the aggression and were increasingly concerned about their own safety. We agreed at that point that everything reasonable that could be done had been done, and we scheduled a date to have him put to sleep.
Napster died on June 19th, 2026, at 5:50PM.
It is hard to put into words the intensity of emotion writing those words brings me. Thinking about it still makes me cry. In the days and weeks leading up to re-homing him, and in the days and weeks after him passed away, I would disappear and cry hysterically, whining with sorrow. I would have howled, but I wanted to avoid alarming Finn.
For all of Napster's flaws, I loved him ferociously.
I loved the way his fur smelled. I loved the way he would climb up on me to lick my ears and my face until I pushed him away. I loved how he would jump up on his hind legs to pounce on a toy from a greater height. I loved how he could tell when I was feeling sick or anxious and would curl up next to me, pushing his body into me so as to make me feel he was there but not overwhelming me. I loved his little subwoofs (corgi owners know what I'm talking about) when he wanted to bark, but knew he wasn't supposed to. I loved the strange little chirps he would make when playing with my wife - a peculiar language that he only ever used with her, something I'm sure was linked to the fact that she was the one who played with him most when he was a puppy. I loved how smart he was, and how he threw himself into games and play. Even though it was immensely annoying, I loved how stubborn he could be.
You were a complicated dog, but you were my dog.
I wish you had been different - less anxious, less prone to biting - but I loved you with an unfathomable intensity nonetheless.
And your gift to me, a gift that has changed my life, has been to enable me to understand dogs. And with that understanding has come acceptance and love.
Thank you. I love you. I forgive you. I'm sorry.