Mathilda

On September 2, at 12:50 PM, my dog of fifteen years, one month and one day, died. I’ve not been able to reconcile her death, and right now I’m doing my best to manage my grief. I’m having a hard time accepting her absence. The world feels far less comfortable without her.

Mathilda had been by my side since she was a fun yet often rambunctious puppy. She earned a second name, “Moose” because of her willingness to push herself into any situation that she decided was important.

Yet, in many respects, she was the shyest dog I’ve ever known. In some ways it felt more like modesty. Her shy demure nature gave her the ability to win over everyone she met, even if they were afraid of dogs. She was at her best in those situations. She would sit on my feet, wag her tail just slightly and win over anyone. It was one of her favorite tricks to make friends.

I keep asking myself, where would I be if she never came into my life? It’s a hard question, but one that I think about often. She changed the course of everything for me. The day that my assistants Kim and Tiffany got her for me, we bonded the second she was in my lap. She was terrified of everything, and that alone made me fall in love with her and the mission of making her less afraid.

It was within weeks of my getting her that I was standing in the vacant lot in the middle of the night talking to our COO about our negotiations with Apple the following morning. I have moments like that etched in my memory forever. From the moment I got her, my preference was to have her at my side at every moment. Working on her fears became a passion, from sending her to day camp to make friends, to taking her to crowded places to meet people.

Her favorite trick to win over a new friend.

I was changing her, and she was changing me. Acquiring and saving Open Interface North America was highly stressful and at times terrifying, yet Mathilda would be at the door when I came home, reminding me constantly to remain in the moment. She’d stand there with a tennis ball in her mouth and throw it at me. There was always time for play.

She endured a lot as a dog. Multiple surgeries, allergies, illness, yet, she never ever complained about anything unless it was scary. It didn’t matter how much pain she was in, she’d remain silent, except only once did she ever cry in pain. To this day, we still have no idea what caused it, but I’ll never forget the sound. If she was terrified, she’d let out a tiny squeal to let me know she was scared, but she was going to do it anyway. It’s how I knew there was a giant spirit inside that dog.

What I’m having difficulty with the most was that this spirt, something that reminded me she was more than just a dog. It was this spirit and consciousness that went far beyond a binary set of behaviors and into the world that was far more human-like. In some ways, it was as if she knew a lot more about the world than me. It was how she carried herself, how she made friends, and how she behaved around people and other dogs.

She had a best friend who was the chief instigator and the two were inseparable at dog camp. One would start some chaos and it was up to Mathilda to sort things out, yet she would without ever losing patience. They loved to chase a ball together, and Mathilda, if she got the ball first, would make a lateral toss to Kinsey so she could run back with the ball. She got joy out of others having as much fun and she was having.

Mathilda with her best friend Kinsey

In my darkest days running OI, Mathilda would get me outside, sometimes at night and the world just seemed different. She had one particular surgery that required constant walks at all hours of the night. I’d reluctantly get out of bed, get dressed and off we’d go for a middle of the night walk. We’d walk to a nearby open park where I’d look up and see the most brilliant star-filled sky, and I’d involuntary exclaim, “wow!” because of the beauty.

One night we watched satellite after satellite fly over, and a few times we’d get caught in a downpour and I’d get home and smile because it was just an amazing night. One night, we watched an entire pack of raccoons run by us in the middle of the street. Those are the memories I’ll never forget.

She kept me grounded, on schedule, and she reminded me to remain the moment and to be spontaneous. When she got old and slow, she showed incredible patience, and never complained about anything. She got to a point where she had to be carried up and down stairs and so she learned how to climb up for the trip as if it was a game. It was a lesson that no matter how difficult something was, we could make it fun.

The hole left in me now that she’s gone is immense. I won’t get over it. I certainly won’t forget her or the profound impact on my life. So much of what I’ve accomplished, so much of what I’ve become was shaped by her. If I’ve had any impact on the world to be a better place, it was in large part because of how she influenced me.