Rigatoni  aka“Rig”

May 5^th 2013 – November 4^th 2025

Rig had been relatively upbeat over the last several months, even as his mobility declined to the point where I’d been carrying him outside for the past two months so he could do his business. Every night we sat around the outdoor fire pit and listened to the news. I had no idea last night would be his last night. He was a little more immobile than usual, but I thought it was just a bug like before. I sat on the ground and scratched him in all his favorite places. He leaned in and lay on my leg, even putting his paw on my hand when I stopped. I carried him inside, and Julie sat with him on the floor for over 30 minutes, on his bed at the foot of ours. Neither of us had any clue what was coming.

We woke up at 2 a.m. because Ollie seemed to want to go out. When I turned on the light, I saw that Rig wasn’t breathing. I went to pet him; he still felt a little warm, but he was stiffening. It was clear he was gone. A part of me felt peace—I’d been praying for months that he would go in his sleep. It was an answered prayer, no doubt. I had dreaded making the decision to put him down. I’d even called Laps of Love earlier that day and had an amazing conversation with a woman named Georgia, just in case it came to that.

It’s so hard to let go of Rig because he’s a thread that reaches back thirteen years—to the shores of Lake Como, when Lindy and I got married. He was the dog she named but never met.  Rigatoni was a dream born from a surreal moment in my life. The day after Lindy and I were married, standing on the shores of Lake Como at the ferry dock, I was mesmerized by a tall, beautiful hound dog with the floppiest ears. I walked over to play with him, pretending to talk to his owner. Neither of us spoke the other’s language, but I became convinced this was my future dog. That’s when I first realized who would rule the roost in our new marriage! I walked back to Lindy and said, “I’m getting this dog when we get home.”
“No way in hell we’re getting a ninety-pound hound dog in our house,” she said, firm but kind. That was quick, I thought. Welcome to marriage!

The next day, during a long ferry ride to Bellagio, she told me she’d researched the breed—the Bracco Italiano—and learned it was one of the best bird-hunting dogs in the world. She’d already planned to give me a Wingmaster shotgun for my birthday, so she said, “Why not let you get the dog too? The trade-off is that I get to name him. We’ll name him Rigatoni and call him Rig for short.” “Deal!” I said.

When we got home a month later, I looked for a breeder. There was only one in the U.S. at the time, and they didn’t have any litters coming soon. She took my name, and that was that. Soon after, Lindy’s fight for her life became everything, and Rig remained just an idea.

In May 2013, three months after Lindy passed from her glioblastoma, I reconnected with that breeder near Telluride. They told me a litter was on the way, and after an interview, I was on the list. My nephew and I drove from Texas to meet the pups.

In the living room, Rig came right to me and sat on my lap and wouldn’t move. They took me outside to show me he was gun trained and that he was already retrieving at 12 weeks. I met his parents, Eros and Ziva—Eros being an Italian sire born in 2008 in Italy with lineage tracing back to the 16th century. I was getting a true, Italy-bred Bracco Italiano. That connection made it all feel meant to be.

He rode home on my lap all the way to Texas. When we got home I intrduced him to his 4-legged brother and sister. That’s when he met Ollie—and their rivalry began. Ollie, Lindy’s Jack Russell, hated Rig immediately and tried to attack him within seconds. I had to keep them separated for almost a year. To my surprise, one day I forgot to close the doors that seperated them from their yards to the house, and I heard the quick clicks of their paws on the floor. I leaned over the kitchen island and they were playing together. Over time, they became inseparable. In Rig’s final months, Ollie was often found lying beside him while Rig slept.

Rig got me through the darkest time of my grief. He always felt like part of our life, even though he never met Lindy. He was joy, peace, and connection from the moment I met him. I drove from Texas to Telluride to pick him up, and when I saw all the puppies, he was the only one who came over and sat on my lap. It was as if he knew I was coming for him.

Rigatoni went from being my grief companion to my wingman at Dallas pubs, to pointing and flushing sage grouse, and chasing elk on our Montana land. He and Ollie were Julie’s first experience as a dog mom, and she embraced it beautifully. She became their biggest champion, even making hats, shirts, and buttons with Rig’s face for his first Bracco show at Purina Farms in Missouri. They adored her completely.

June Lucette met Rig when she was three days old and beamed when he licked her face—the bark she’d heard from the womb now had a face. She loved Rig, and he loved her. Yesterday, when Julie gently told her that Rig might be going to heaven soon, June burst into tears: “No, not now. I don’t want him to go. I want to keep him.” It broke our hearts.

He was an idea born in Italy that became real at a providential moment in my grief, found a dog mom in Julie, met the daughter Lindy and I created in 2009, born to Julie and I in 2022 , and now lives forever in all of our hearts. Rig may not be my last Bracco, but he is the best dog I’ve ever had or ever will have. He loved us like no other. He seemed to know how much his story meant—to me, to all of us. We racked up thousands of miles together, from dog shows in Missouri and California to Montana and countless drives between Texas and California.

He was a road dog, a best friend, and now, part of that invisible thread of love that binds us all forever. My heart is shattered. I can’t fathom life without him here. I love you, Rig. I hope you run up to Lindy when you see her and give her one of your famous Bracco slobbers—the ones that would’ve driven her crazy. Run free, my boy. We’ll see you again. Your hugs and heart will be missed beyond words.