Dekker's Thoughts About Legacy

Dekker, the dog who has a lot of wisdom Dear Humans,

Woof woof… it’s me, Dekker. I’m lying here in my favorite sunspot while my person taps on her keyboard about something called legacy.

She talks about it with her writing group, too — a whole pack of humans gathered on screens, nodding, thinking, remembering. I listen from the floor.

I hear the tone of her voice. I smell the emotions in the room that isn’t a real room. And I wonder…

Why does this word legacy make humans lean forward so much?

Dogs don’t worry about that word. We don’t even have a word for it. But we live it every single day.

So I thought I’d paw out a few thoughts… you know, dog to human.

What Legacy Looks Like From the Sunspot on the Floor

When I walk through the world, I don’t think about being remembered. I think about the smell of the breeze, the direction of the squirrels, and whether dinner might appear a little earlier than usual.

But if you asked me — “Dekker, what legacy do dogs leave?” — I do have an answer.

We leave scent.
We leave presence.
We leave rhythm.
We leave love.

Scent, presence, rhythm, love.
That’s it. That’s the whole canine story on legacy.

Dogs don’t build empires.
We build connections.

And if you’ve ever had a dog, you know exactly what those connections feel like… warm, ordinary, but somehow unforgettable.

Scent: Our First Legacy

Humans have books and journals and cloud storage. Dogs have… well… hydrants.

A dog’s scent trail is our autobiography.
Every corner we visit, every tree we pause beside — that’s where we say, “I was here. This mattered.”

You may not think you’re leaving such a trail, humans, but oh, you are. You leave invisible markers every day:

the warmth of your hand on someone’s shoulder
the way you say their name
the smell of your coffee drifting through a kitchen
the sound of your laughter that someone hasn’t heard in years

That’s legacy.
It’s just not written down the way you expect.

Presence: Our Quiet, Everyday Legacy

Humans think legacy is something big — a masterpiece, a mission, a meaning wrapped in shiny paper.

But I have learned this: your presence becomes someone else’s memory.

When my person was sad once, I didn’t give advice. I just lay very still, touching her foot with my paw. She remembers that moment. I do too. It didn’t fix her problem, but it shaped something inside her — something she carries forward.

You call that legacy.

Dogs call it love.

Maybe those two things are closer than you think.

Rhythm: The Legacy You Don’t Notice While You’re Living It

You and I have daily routines.

Breakfast. Walk. Work. Nap. Work again. Dinner. Snuggle. Bed.

I know them by heart.

If one tiny thing changes — a late walk, a forgotten treat — I notice immediately. But here’s something interesting:

When someone else learns your rhythms, they carry them long after you’re gone.

I’ve seen humans miss the way a loved one stirred their tea.

I’ve seen humans keep using someone’s favorite mug because it feels like a conversation.

I’ve seen humans pause at a door because they can almost feel the person who used to walk through it.

Your rhythms become history.

We dogs know this instinctively. The pack lives on in the habits we learned from one another. We don’t have to talk about it. We just feel it.

Do you humans notice the rhythms you’re offering the world?

Love: The Legacy That Always Outlives the Fur on the Couch

If you’ve ever loved a dog, you know this truth:

Love stays.
Love returns.
Love doesn’t wear out.
Love doesn’t need a book contract.

When you sit with someone on a hard day, that becomes part of their strength.
When you show kindness, it becomes part of their story.
When you laugh with someone, your joy becomes woven into their memory of themselves.

You may think these moments disappear.

They don’t.

Humans remember love the way dogs remember the sound of a familiar car pulling into the driveway — instantly, fully, with the whole body.

But Dekker, Don’t Humans Need to Leave Something More?

Woof woof… maybe.

You write stories and books and letters because it helps you understand your own life.

That seems wise to me. My person helps other humans do this, and I can tell it matters to them.

I’ve watched her open her notebook, watched faces on screens lean closer, watched tears come sometimes… tears that smell like memory, like recognition.

Humans need words the way dogs need scent.

But please don’t forget this:

Your greatest legacy is what you have already given — your time, your presence, your patience, your flawed and beautiful love.

All the writing just helps you see it more clearly.

Four Pieces of Canine Wisdom for Legacy-Building

Let me offer some practical dog advice. We’re simple creatures, but sometimes simple is good.

1. Show up.

A dog’s best talent is arriving.

At the door. At your feet. In your sadness. In your celebration.

Legacy begins with presence.
Are you showing up where it matters most?

2. Keep it simple.

Humans make legacy sound like a complicated achievement.

Dogs know it’s not.

A shared walk at dusk…
A memory told to a grandchild…
A handwritten note tucked into a drawer…

These tiny things?
They become the landmarks of a life.

3. Tell your stories.

Dogs don’t have words, but we have memories.
You have both.

Why keep them inside?

Your stories are warm places for someone else to curl up.

4. Love widely, love consistently, love like your tail is wagging.

Even if your tail doesn’t actually wag.
(Some of us have short ones. I won’t name names.)

Love is the one thing that truly lasts.
Everything else is just accessories.

What If Your Legacy Is Already Happening?

Humans often think legacy happens later — someday — when they’re older, wiser, ready.

But dogs know better.

Legacy doesn’t come at the end.
It’s happening right now.

In the way you greet someone.
In the way you remember a name.
In the courage you lend without noticing.
In the laughter you bring into a room.
In the honesty you share in your writing circle… the one I listen to from the floor.

You’re already leaving a trail.
Every day.
Every step.

The question isn’t Will you leave a legacy?

The question is What kind are you shaping without even realizing it?

A Little Canine Blessing Before I Go Back to Sleep

Woof woof… may your days leave a warm trail behind you.
May your stories find the ones who need them.
May your memories grow soft and bright.
And may you always notice the good scents along the way.

With a full belly and a hopeful tail,
Dekker

Dekker’s Thoughts About Legacy