I have written three books where a dog was a lead character. “What would Doris do?” That was the question I kept coming back to while writing this series. Our dog Doris, who I named that character after, decided she’d packed enough fun into one lifetime and left us in May. She was one of a kind: smart, funny, and just the right kind of maniacal. So whenever my characters got into trouble, by the third book, Doris had taken on a leadership role. And it made it easy for me as I pushed for the cleanest, most elegant solution I could find—because that’s what she would have done.

Having a hyper-intelligent dog as a main character in a science fiction novel isn’t exactly new. The difference for me is that I had a real life example, who was generally lying on my feet as I wrote, to model it on. Not long after we adopted her, she hopped up onto the coffee table, sat down, and gave us both a look. It was a side-eye full of meaning. And the message was received: in this house, Doris came first, and everyone else followed.

That never really changed—and honestly, we were happy to go along with it. She was just that much fun. Although, she wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea.

We live in a rural area with tons of places to hike, swim and boat, three things she loved the best. But what she loved more than anything, especially when she was young, was killing things. She was half Springer Spaniel and half Whippet, which meant she was both capable of jumping ridiculously high, and run amazingly fast. Once, on a beautiful early summer morning, I was pulling into the parking lot of the rowing club across the river from us. It was a bucolic scene – rowers getting their sculls into the water, kayakers on the boat ramp, getting ready to launch and families on the lawn that swept down to the shore, feeding the Canadian Geese goslings who were awkwardly stumbling about on the grass. Doris saw only the geese however, and promptly leapt out of the car’s passenger window, which was down just enough for her to get through, unfortunately, while we were still moving. As I was frantically braking, all I could see after she had crested the slope on the lawn and disappeared were, now lifeless goslings, one by one, flying high up in to the air like rag dolls, one after another.

And then I heard all the children screaming.

So, ya. My dog Doris was a killing machine, and she did scar some kids for life. I do feel bad about that. But you should have seen her face after she ran back to the car, her killing done. She was the happiest creature on earth. It’s difficult to be mad at anything who was doing what they were born to do, and after they had done it so proficiently.

There are many other stories like that. Not all so gory. Mostly they are funny and adorable. As she was. And now she is gone. Duncan, her partner in crime, is feeling the absence right now, but not for long. We’ll be adopting another dog soon. And if the new pup is even one-tenth as awesome as Doris was, we’ll have hit the dog lottery all over again.

Doris, on her next-to-last day, seen here guilting me (with her partner in crime, Duncan), to take them for a walk.