Saying Goodbye to Thunder: A Tribute to My Greatest Teacher
It's time I share with you something I hoped I'd never have to.
Thunder's Disappearance: The Unthinkable Happened
Two weeks ago, Thunder disappeared. We searched everywhere—the whole town came out to help, people I'd never met slogged through forests and rivers in the rain. Thermal imaging drone teams and search hound rescuers drove across the country to help us search.
But he's gone, and based on the evidence we do have, I fear he fell into the rushing river that day.
From Adventure Memoir to Urgent Tribute
For the past few months, I've been writing a book about the wild adventures Thunder and I shared over our 16 years together—BASE jumping missions, motorcycle rides across continents, sleeping under foreign stars, all the crazy places we explored side by side. I was just finishing Part I when he went missing.
What started as a memoir about our adventures has now become something else entirely: a necessity, a tribute, a continuation of a promise I made to him long ago. I've struggled with how to share this news because how do you capture a soul like Thunder's in a few sentences? You don't. That's why I need to write this book—not just as a memoir about our adventures, but as a proper tribute to the most extraordinary being I've ever known.
When Thunder disappeared, the whole town came out to search. People I had never met slogged through thick forests and stinging nettle in the rain, others combed trail networks under the hot alpine sun. I watched them show up—boots on, hearts open—as if they'd been waiting for this moment to prove something not just about loyalty, but about love.
In their kindness, I saw the better angels of our nature. I was reminded again of the range of emotions we all carry, how they bend and stretch us in different seasons of our lives. I saw, in their sweat and sincerity, the unshakable resilience of the human spirit—and the quiet empathy that binds us together when it matters most.
Thunder's Wisdom: How a Dog Taught Me to Love
Thunder helped me learn that lesson early on. He opened a door in my soul I didn’t know was there. He softened parts of me that had been calloused by warriors, by wrestling, by a world that asked boys to be tough long before it asked them to be honest. His presence, steady and knowing, instilled in me a capacity to love so deeply, so wildly, that for the first time, I felt proud to be human. He gave me a new metric for strength—not dominance, but devotion. Not control, but care.
The Puppy Who Knew His Purpose
Even when he was a puppy, I saw something in him I couldn’t name. A kind of wisdom I hadn’t seen in any person—ancient, grounded, eternal. Not something taught, but something remembered. Some days, I joked that he must’ve rolled his eyes when we met, already knowing he had his work cut out for him. This one’s gonna be a project.
And he was right. I was broken in more ways than I knew. But from the very beginning, I became a conscientious student of his strange, sacred wisdom. No monk nor mentor has ever taught me more.
What is it to love so deeply? I don’t know how to answer that—except to say that I have. That I did. And I am the better for it.
Navigating Grief: The Architecture of Loss
As I stumbled through the early days of his disappearance, I noticed how grief rearranged my inner architecture. I was capable of stoicism and collapse, sometimes within the same breath. I compartmentalized what I could and surrendered to what I couldn’t. One moment I’d be calm and collected, the next—gutted and gasping. I expect I’ll continue oscillating like that for a while.
Sixteen Years of Adventures: A Life Fully Lived
But when the sadness swelled, I tried not to think about the years we lost. I tried to remember the ones I had with ol’ Thunder. Because the truth is, we shared nearly sixteen years together. And during those years, we did everything. Rode motorcycles across continents. Slept under stars on foreign soil. Swam in rivers no map had names for. He’d been with me through heartbreak, through euphoria, through madness, through healing. He wasn’t just my dog. He was my shadow. My anchor. My witness. He was a piece of my soul and I recognized that truth from the moment we met.
Close Calls and Narrow Escapes
Sometimes I wonder how many times we brushed up against moments like this one and never realized. How many close calls we narrowly avoided. How often the thread between life and loss stretched taut... but held.
This time, it didn’t. But I try not to let that eclipse the thousand times it did.
Gratitude in the Face of Loss
I am grateful. Profoundly, painfully, unspeakably grateful for all the days we did get. For every time fate let us return home—tired, muddy, hearts full. For every night I fell asleep with Thunder curled beside me, his steady breath fogging the space between our hearts.
That was his dharma, I believe. His sacred task. He knew what I needed from him in this life—even when I didn’t. He understood the role he had to play long before I understood what role I played in my own life. And he accepted it with quiet grace.
Thunder wasn’t just by my side. He was my side. The missing piece of my spirit that slotted into place and made the rest of me work.
The Lighter Moments: Love in Daily Rituals
There were lighter moments too, and I find myself clinging to them now. I think of the nights I’d crawl into bed just to yank him from his slumber and force him into some absurd cuddle ritual. He’d grunt and groan, annoyed but indulgent, because he knew—maybe better than I did—that I needed it more than he did. That was the deal. That was the job.
I hope he knew how much of my life I shaped around his. I hope he felt it in the little choices I made every day—what jobs I took, where I traveled, how I moved through the world. My whole rhythm bent around his presence, like gravity finds mass. But I don’t really doubt that he knew. That’s the thing about dogs.
They know.
And I know he knew.
Transformation Through Community Support
The love and support we received during those days—people calling, posting, driving in from other towns just to help—transformed me. I felt myself evolve in real time. I became more human, more porous, more real. I finally understood what Thunder had been trying to teach me all along. I think he had always known. But now I did.
Learning to Love Out Loud
The boy who first met Thunder was angry, lost, unsure of himself. And Thunder saw all of that, accepted it, and set to work. He taught me to be gentle. Taught me to be fierce in my loyalty, soft in my strength. He taught me to love out loud.
And the truth is: I listened. I really did. Every single day we shared, I hugged him with my full presence. I wrestled him, teased him, talked to him, praised him, petted him until he got annoyed. I held nothing back. Because I knew—I knew—that someday he wouldn’t be there, and I didn’t want a single moment of regret.
I embraced that truth every time I embraced him.
Thunder's Legacy: More Than Just a Dog
Thunder is my dog. But more than that—Thunder is my teacher. My rescuer. My best friend. And it makes me proud to say I was his human, that we belonged to each other, that we were, are, inseparable.
Time is cruel. It robs us of joy even as it gifts it. We stumble forward through the dark, often without a compass. But if we’re lucky, we might find a dog to walk beside us, to light our way, to make the stumbling feel like dancing. Thunder was that for me.
And though he’s gone in the physical sense, his light still guides me. His wisdom is stitched into the seams of my soul. His breath, his bark, his weight curled against me in sleep—those things live on in me, as real now as they ever were.
The Power of Simple Moments
And here’s one more thing I know to be true:
Because of Thunder, I smiled far more often than I otherwise would have. And that matters. That counts. Each smile he gave me—whether from a goofy face, a well-timed fart, or the simple joy of him trotting by my side—was a small step away from the edge. A breath. A buoy. A moment of light in the dark.
Sometimes a smile is all that keeps a person from slipping too far into the void. Thunder gave me thousands. Quiet, defiant miracles. Every single one of them a kind of salvation.
Meeting My Hero: A Dog Who Saved Lives
Not all heroes wear capes. Some wear collars with tags on them. Some walk on four paws and save you from yourself a million times over. And they say “don’t meet your heroes.” Hah! Well I met mine. And I loved him with all my heart, every single day we had together.
The Promise That Changed Everything
There was one night, years ago, when I stood at the very edge of oblivion. Thunder looked at me with those knowing eyes and somehow convinced me I owed him one more day. That was the night I made him The Promise. And this—this carrying forward of his light—this is how I keep it.
So I keep going. Because that’s what he would want. Because that’s what he taught me. Because love like that doesn’t die—it just changes shape.
I smile now when I think of him.
Not because the pain is gone, but because the love is bigger.
And I think that’s what Thunder knew all along.
He knows something we don’t.
And now, I know it too.
A Promise to Thunder: The Book That Must Be Written
The scope of this memoir has now shifted. What began as a rollicking recounting of our swashbuckling adventures across the world has become something more urgent: a tribute to the greatest soul I've ever known. My mentor. My guru. My hero. Thunder the Wonder Dog.
This book tackles themes of meaning, mastery, mortality, and masculinity in the modern world. It confronts mental wellness and navigates hardship the way Thunder taught me to. It's a literary work—part gonzo, part West With The Night—and above all, it's a tribute to Thunder, just as DOGPAK started as a tribute to him.
Follow Thunder's Story
If you'd like to follow this project, please sign up at https://promisetothunder.dogpak.com to receive updates and get the first chapter free.
I'll likely launch a Kickstarter as we approach publication to help bring Thunder's story to the world.
Thunder the Wonder Dog. My dog. My best friend.
Forever.
No matter what.
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