07/13/2026
Yogi came to us in 2015 after being tied to a tree with nothing but a bag of food. From that day forward, Yogi lived life unrestrained.
In the spring, Yogi romped through the woods, his bobbing tail and the rustling of fresh foliage the only sign he was still nearby. In the summer, Yogi swam and swam and swam until he grew tired enough to nap the afternoon away. In fall, Yogi would find a patch of sun in the backyard and sit, sniffing the air as leaves fell and squirrels darted past. In winter, Yogi took on snow in leaps and bounds, until the cold penetrated his double coat.
Yogi was not a singular being – he had a unique and ever-changing relationship which each of us.
Yogi stole Lili’s heart from the moment he joined our family. They’d rile each other up playing before bed, snuggle while watching movies, and spent many hot summer days swimming in the lake together. Every morning Lili sat with Yogi in his bed by the door and every evening she kissed him goodnight. Whenever Lili left for college, Yogi would jump in the back seat of her car, not yet ready to say goodbye. And every time she returned, they outdid each other’s excitement.
With Robin, Yogi found confidence, trust, and safety in routine, and returned that favor every chance he got. Every Saturday morning, they’d hike together, covering miles of trail in rain or shine, hot or cold. When Robin worked from home, Yogi sat by her side and made sure to alert her the moment 5pm rolled around that it was time to quit work and feed him dinner. When Robin was home alone, he’d sleep next to her in bed, his presence comforting and assuring.
Yogi brought out Gary’s soft side, as they shared many long days, just the two of them. They’d go for sprawling hikes at Cosmo Park, wandering the intersecting trails for hours. When Gary sat down to read or watch golf after lunch, Yogi was there, waiting to have his head scratched or belly rubbed. Together, they’d retire for an afternoon nap. Every night after dinner, Yogi sat by dishwasher, knowing that sooner or later Gary would slip him a treat or plate to lick.
We will miss Yogi’s large, pointed ears, which he never quite grew into. We’ll miss the click-clack of his nails, and the jingle of his collar, and the way his paws slid across the hardwood floors. We’ll miss the way he’d watch deer in the yard, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, and the way he could never catch them, no matter how hard he tried. We will miss the way Yogi slept, his belly up and legs tangled like a pretzel. We will miss his companionship, his goofy expressions, and his trusting and steadfast love.
But mostly, we are grateful. Grateful for eleven long years. Grateful for the joy and peace he brought to our house. Because of Yogi, we have been changed for the better.