We said goodbye to Casey this week. When we moved here almost five years ago, with a nearly 12 year old dog, we never thought we would have so much Amsterdam time with him. We hoped, of course, but we didn’t assume. Like all the rest of us expats, a dog moves here and begins a new life. Most people you meet as an expat - dog or person - don’t know much about your past. You just start right up on a new continent and plunge in. This means your friends here often don’t know your history. It also means that to your friends back home, you’re as young and spry as when you left because that’s how they picture you in their minds. Had it not been for the many times Casey has made it into my blog, his back-home friends would still picture him jumping sky-high when anyone rang the front door bell, or being the fastest dog in the park we hung out in in Maplewood, N.J. The friends here don’t know that version of Casey. They just see the old gentleman with the amazing appetite.

“Never make predictions, especially about the future.” That was just one of the quotable quotes from Casey Stengel, the baseball player, Yankees and Mets manager, and Hall of Famer. He was also the inspiration for our Casey’s name. That quote by the other Casey sums up our Casey’s life. Who would have thought the stray dog found searching through garbage and wandering the streets of Newark, N.J. would one day go on to be Casey, the Expat Dog, a bilingual star in his neighborhood in Amsterdam?

This was taken soon after we moved here, at the canal near our apartment. It became our go-to place for walks.

I never imagined I would be one of “those dog people” who value dogs as much if not more than the humans in their lives. I count some of those dog people among some of my nearest and dearest: my own extended family members and friends. But still, that’s not a club I ever thought I belonged in. I didn’t grow up with a dog and didn’t even beg my parents for one. I did clean out the garage once and try to persuade them (briefly) there was plenty of room for a horse in there. In urban Trenton, N.J.? I didn’t swoon over my friends’ dogs or treat them as my own substitute pets. In fact, I always secretly prayed during sleepovers the dogs wouldn’t step on me or sleep anywhere near me. They always did both.

And then came Casey. Well, first there was Ben’s Persuasive Essay in 5th grade, and a spreadsheet detailing the very reasonable costs involved with pet ownership. And the next thing you knew, we were adopting a dog. Since I’m not a dog person, I never thought I’d be writing one of those pieces telling you all about his life. And yet, here I am. As I’m sure you know, this is mostly for me, and those devoted dog people in my life. The rest of you can feel free to roll your eyes, skim, or just delete. And you can ignore the music, which might seem sappy and ridiculous. I promise you I understand. Because the truth of the matter is, you might have a dog, but not be a dog person. You love your dog only. Just like I love Casey.

All the songs in this post are the musical equivalent of pasta for me: total comfort. This theme song to a TV show I loved as a kid, The Courtship of Eddie’s Father, was actually about a single father’s love for his son. But when I hear it, I think it’s a song about a dog. “People let me tell you about my best friend….”

My friend Carol liked to say Casey was a miracle dog. I like to say he was a dog with nine lives. At so many points in his life, he defied the odds. His first act of defiance was surviving both his early life of being abandoned and the name given to him at the shelter: Jellybean. The volunteers at the shelter - who found him on Easter - thought the name was perfect. We have Rachel to thank for deciding he was The One when we saw him at the local pet adoption day. He was dirty and bedraggled-looking, but she saw something special in him. We didn’t go with the intention of adopting a dog that day, but the next thing we knew, we were signing the papers and driving home with one. The first order of business, after he stopped running in crazy fast circles in our backyard, was to choose a name. Ben, Rachel, and Peter all laughed when I proposed Moses. We went for Casey, since the family devotion to the Yankees bordered on religious fanaticism.

The dog name survey - created by Ben - also tells you a lot about how Ben’s mind is organized. He was 10 years old at the time.

Other near misses included the several emergency visits to the vet - in the first after his adoption - to treat various stomach issues. He ate everything he could get his mouth onto, including rolls of toilet paper, Ben’s trombone mute, and cigarette butts.

When he was a teenager, he got even more frisky. I got a call at work one morning from a neighbor who said, “Did you know Casey’s on your roof?” After a frantic 10 minute drive home, I arrived to find a fire truck parked in front of the house and a screen to our bedroom window laying on the curb. The firefighter explained that the excitement was over. My neighbor had used our spare key to let himself in the house and coax Casey off the roof, and back inside through our open bedroom window. It seems Casey decided he wanted some fresh air, and must have pushed the screen window until it gave way. That should tell you all you need to know about the determination of this dog. The look on his face when I confronted him in the kitchen was positively vintage faux-sorry teenager. My dad was always adamant that Casey didn’t have human feelings, and that I was reading my own emotions into his. I respectfully disagreed every time.

Another big near-miss came a few years later when he climbed under the fence and tried to follow me across the street. He ran out in front of a car and was hit square in the chest. The vet prepared us for the worst. But after four days in the hospital, Casey came home, defying the vet’s prediction. The Miracle Dog looked at me as if to say both “Sorry” and “Thanks”.

I know I told you I’m not a dog person, but I did learn a lot over the past 15 years about what a dog can bring to your life. Sorry, dad, but I do think this is the sort of thing that went through Casey’s mind:

When you feel lost and about to give up
'Cause your best just ain't good enough
And you feel the world has grown cold,
And you're drifting out all on your own,
And you need a hand to hold:
Darling, reach out (come on girl, reach out for me)
Reach out (reach out for me.)
I'll be there, to love and comfort you,

Who ever could have predicted that this streets-of-Newark dog would one day fly to Amsterdam and make a home for himself in a new country? In Amsterdam, Casey gave me an entrée into the neighborhood and into the hearts of our Dutch neighbors. While they might not have wanted much to do with yet another expat moving in, they were always happy to see Casey. As I’ve mentioned before, the Dutch greet dogs on the street the way Americans treat cute babies: with smiles, and questions about his age and lots of love. When I didn’t know anyone in the city besides Peter, Casey was my constant companion. We wandered the streets and got to know the coffee (me) and the crumbs (him).

This was the first time he met this gal at the park. He had a way with the young Dutch ladies.

Through Casey, I expanded my friendships here. We had a tight-knit group of friends with dogs, and we often met up in the park together.

An expat dog has to be very good at goodbyes. Only one dog in the group still calls Amsterdam home. One other has passed away. The others have repatriated.

A visit to the park one afternoon resulted in a torn ear for Casey when another dog suddenly took a bite out of it. But that torn ear led to us finding not just a vet but an office full of FOC’s (Friends of Casey’s). The office - an all-female practice - is just a few short blocks from our apartment. The vets and their amazing assistants somehow pulled him back from the grave a few years ago, when his kidneys and his heart were giving out. Even when things weren’t in disaster mode, we stopped in often just to say hello. And to get some treats. I will never be able to thank them enough for being our friends and for making Casey’s last days as happy as possible. On the day we said goodbye, the vet knew exactly what to say. And not to say. We will be eternally grateful.

Jackson Browne understands:

Doctor, my eyes have seen the years
And the slow parade of fears without crying
Now I want to understand

I have done all that I could
To see the evil and the good without hiding
You must help me if you can

I don’t presume to say every expat should come here with a dog, but it sure made life easier for us. He always gave us an excuse to take a walk, to get out there rain or shine. And rain and rain. In the old days back in N.J., Casey also helped me through any tough times I was having. At the end of a long day at work, we walked. During difficult phone calls with family, we walked. And most of all, when I was worried about the move here, we walked. It’s only fitting that Whitney Houston, born in Newark, N.J. just like Casey would say it best:

“If all should tumble
And the whole world crumble
By his side I'll still be standing”

If you’re lucky and they are healthy, having a dog gives you a chance to experience all of life’s stages in a relatively short time. I don’t know if it really is true that every year in a dog’s life equals seven human years. But the point is we saw Casey go from middle-age to elderly in the time we were here. And we could see that what my almost-88-year-old mother says is true, “Getting old sucks.”

Just four short years ago, Casey ran the Doggy Marathon with me. It wasn’t 26 miles, but it was over 2 miles. He ate himself silly with the treats that were at the finish line.

When we weren’t running, we were walking together all over this city. I could bring Casey almost everywhere, except for museums and the larger grocery stories. I have him to thank for knowing where so many of the “cool places” in town are.

“So hard to find my way
Now that I'm all on my own”

Casey even learned some Dutch. I called him “Meneer” (sir) and like all good Dutch dog owners, praised him by saying, “Goed zo” (roughly, “well done”). When people spoke to him in Dutch, I think he understood better than I do.

I’m including this because listening to James Taylor helps.

As many of you know, there was a lot of stress involved in moving Casey to Amsterdam. He became the vessel for all of the anxiety I was feeling about quitting my job, moving far away from the kids and the rest of my family, and being in a place where I had no friends. I had to worry about all the details like getting him the right crate, getting the vaccines at the exact right time, and putting him into the bottom of a deafeningly loud plane. What will I do with my anxiety-about-the-move now that he’s not here to receive it?

Whenever Ben or Rachel came to visit, Casey got a surge of energy. So did I.

Just as time knew to move on since the beginning
And the seasons know exactly when to change
Just as kindness knows no shame
Know through all your joy and pain
That I'll be loving you always

Writing this post gave me the chance to fill you in on the story of Casey’s life, and fill folks back home in about the last Amsterdam chapter. Our pets rely on us to make tough decisions for them. And also to tell their stories. Writing this also helps me get through a difficult time. I try to keep our loss in perspective. I can’t help but think about our own friends back in the U.S. who have died since we moved here, and the many friends who have lost parents in the past five years. But losing Casey is still a loss, and no amount of comparing it makes the grief fully disappear. The routines we have spent 15 years establishing - walking him, feeding him, making sure we open the front door carefully so we don’t knock him when we greets us, and (more recently) worrying about him - all will take time to erase from our minds.

The Dutch have a lot of phrases for saying goodbye. Among the many choices, there’s the informal doei, or even do-do, which is called out in sing-songy voice and means “bye”. That’s what I might say if I were saying goodbye to a friend after a coffee together. There’s tot ziens, which means “until we meet again”. That’s what I’ll say when we leave for Nashville. And there’s vaarwel which means farewell, and literally translates to sail well. That’s the one I chose for the title of this post. Farewell, Casey. Sail well. We sure miss you. Now and forever.

Photo credit: Nancy Pecor. And fabulous day at the beach (about 3 years ago) with the dogs credit: Nancy Pecor, Michele Goller, and Ben.