Morgynn spent eleven years by my side, and I don’t really know how to explain him any better than this: he was just a good dog, and in my opinion, the best dog. His registered name was Horizon’s On Crow’s Wings, named after the Morrígan.

He never met a stranger. Every person, every dog, and just about every animal was a friend, whether they believed it or not. He changed so many people’s minds about Dobermans. The people who expected a big, intimidating dog instead met a goofy, gentle giant who wanted to say hello to everyone and believed every meal deserved happy spins before dinner.

He loved life to the fullest. Every walk was an adventure, as long as it wasn’t raining. Two years ago I drove him to Corpus Christi just so he could experience the beach. I’m sure more than a few people thought I was crazy for taking a vacation just for my dog, but seeing how much he loved it made every mile worth it. We also drove to New Jersey during COVID for the holidays, and while he tolerated the trip, he made it very clear that Texas dogs don’t belong in the snow.

He was smart, endlessly food motivated, and always wanted to make me happy. Agility wasn’t exactly his sport; he somehow never figured out what to do with his back feet, but he made everyone laugh anyway. Even his dramatic yelling when he was crated eventually became part of his charm.

What I’ll remember most, though, was how gentle he was. One of my favorite memories is from a Pride parade, when a Jack Russell latched onto his face. Instead of fighting back, Morgynn simply sat down and looked at me, waiting for me to fix it. That was who he was. I never once had to worry about what he would do, because being kind, and cowardly, came naturally to him.

He was there through school, job changes, heartbreak, and some of the happiest moments of my life. I originally brought him home as an emotional support dog, but somewhere along the way I stopped being able to tell who was supporting who. He gave me a reason to get out of bed, a reason to come home, and a constant source of comfort for more than a decade.

Like anyone who loves a Doberman, I worried I wouldn’t get enough time with him. Instead, he stayed unbelievably healthy for almost all of his life, only slowing down over the last couple of months. Eleven years will never have been enough, but for a Doberman, they were an incredible gift.

I’ll remember the happy spins before every meal. The beach. His hatred of rain. The way complete strangers fell in love with him within minutes. The way people I haven’t seen in years still ask about him. The way he trusted me completely. Most of all, I’ll remember that he was just… good.

I was never supposed to have the perfect dog but I guess I just got lucky.

Thank you for eleven unforgettable years, Morgynn. I hope I gave you a life that made you as happy as you made me.