When I initially read Tom King and Bilquis Evely’s Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow earlier this year, I thoroughly enjoyed its depth and complexity on various levels, so I was very excited to see Craig Gillespie’s film based on the comic. I don’t want to get into the controversy surrounding the ways that the adaptation departs from the originial text, which you can find online if you want; instead, I want to take the conversation in a different direction, focusing on Kara Zor-El’s relationship with her dog Krypto in the film. Kara’s sole impetus for tracking down Krem revolves around him poisoning Krypto and Kara tracking him down to get the antidote, before Krypto dies. Krypto serves as Kara’s companion who works to keep her somewhat grounded in the face of so much pain and suffering. She finds Krypto at her mother’s funeral, and Krypto accompanies her to Earth, being with Kara as her family and home perish.

Kara’s connection to Krypto, even when I first read King and Evely’s Supergirl, made me think about our connection with dogs and my own connection with dogs. All throughout my life, I’ve had dogs in my household. As a kid, I had mostly outside dogs, and looking back, while I loved the dogs, I did not treat them well because I did not play with them like I should have, I did not walk them, I did not necessarily care them in the manner they deserved. Part of this stemmed from my own immaturity, but part of it also stemmed from the way I thought about dogs during that period, which really meant I didn’t think about them much at all.

For about ten years, during college and early adulthood, I didn’t have a dog until I got married. Early in our marriage, my wife and I talked about getting a dog, and my wife decided we should get one to determine whether or not I was ready to have a “human” child, not just a puppy. Zoe, our first dog, was a springer spaniel and border collie mix, and she had the sweetest disposition, even if she would grab a sandwich out of your hand occasionally or pee in the wading pool as you soaked you feet in the water. We loved Zoe, walking her and caring for her as she deserved, and we had her for five years. When I starated graduate school and we moved into student housing, we had to give Zoe to my parents, and they took care of her for the remainder of her life, till she passed away at fourteen, after providing so much love and joy to us.

Since giving Zoe to my parents and various moves, including the birth of our son, we talked, on and off, about getting another dog, but we didn’t actually do it until Covid. In 2020, after we bought a house with a large enough yard, we adopted Bergen, whom the animal shelter told us was a border collie. He fit right into our family, going on walks and getting pets from people, running with the kids, playing with toys, and just snoozing around the house. As he grew, though, he far surpassed what we recognized as a border collie, and many people asked if he was a Bernese mountain dog. The more we looked at him, and the bigger he got, we felt that he had to be part Bernese mountain dog.

Bergen is an anxious and jealous boy. He stayed at home with our daughter his first year because she did virtual school, so he acquired some anxiety, resulting in him needing some medication to help calm him down. He’s gotten older, started moving slower, and really struggling at times, and I know that we don’t have as much time with him as we’ve already had with him, and that makes me sad. I’m always the pessimist, looking at the absolute worse thing that could happen, and knowing that the life expectancy for larger dogs is short, especially Bernese mountain dogs, I already dread the day when we have to say goodbye to him because we did not say goodbye to Zoe because she died during our time in Norway.

Throughout Bergen’s life, my son, specifically, has been asking us for another dog, and we kept telling him we would get another dog at some point, but that point always came and went, until last month. One of our daughter’s friends from high school posted that her and her family were about to move and they couldn’t take their dogs with them, so they were seeking news homes for the dogs. We went to their house, with Bergen, to meet one of the dogs, Mico, a black poodle and possible curly-coated retriever mix. The two dogs sniffed one another then ignored one another, and we took that as a decent sign since we thought Bergen may be jealous. He did, at times, growl at Mico because I would pet him. Apart from that, though, they behaved well together, which led us to have a get together at our house.

During all of this, my wife was really unsure about whether or not we should adopt another dog because of the costs and time for the two to acclimate together, so she decided to at least foster Mico until we could possibly find someone to adopt him. That didn’t last long because once Mico entered our home she feel in love with him, leading us to take him to the vet and get him fixed, thus making him a permanent member of our family in such a short period of time. We got Mico two weeks before I left for Paris, and even during that time I fell in love him, missing him just as much as I miss Bergen at this moment.

All of this makes me think about how much we connect with our pets, specifically our dogs. There is something about them, their loyalty, their comfort, their existence, that brings joy to our lives. The first week after we got Mico, we had him fixed, and my wife was out of town for the weekend. That meant that I took him to the vet on Monday and picked him up Tuesday. We had only had him for a week at that point, and when I left him at the vet, I heard him whine. It sent a reaction through me, making me want to go back in there and comfort it. Along with that, I also encountered a family who all arrived at the same moment, and the woman went to the person at the front desk and said, “We have an appointment to put him down.” At that, my heart sank because I thought of Bergen as he ages. I thought of the entire family coming to the vet’s office to say their final goodbyes to a beloved family member.

When my wife got back from her short trip, she told me, “I missed Mico.” This was something I would never have imagined, especially because of her initial reluctance to add another member to the family. Since I’ve been in France, almost everytime I FaceTime my wife, Mico is there, with his face nuzzled up against her lovingly. He even sleeps with her, something Bergen has never really done. She tells me, “He’s a sweet boy.” Mico and Bergen both have sweet and loving temperaments, and they show these temperaments in their own ways. Each has added extreme joy and love to our lives. My son has even sent me pictures of the two of them seeming to enjoy one another’s company while my wife has sent me pictires of Mico getting a pillow and getting comfortable on the couch.

Since I am away from Bergen and Mico, I have been thinking a lot about my babies, my bons garçons. I see so many people walking dogs around Paris, and each time I see one I look at it and smile because they remind me of Bergen and Mico. Coming back to my apartment the other day, I saw a dog who has been walking around the street, a collie of some sort, lying in the middle of the road as a woman, a little further down the street, had a ball under her feet. He waited, patiently, for her to pick the ball up and throw it to him. When she did, he retrieved it and brought it back to her, joyful for the attenion. This made me smile.

I have a few months to go before I see Mico and Bergen again, but I can’t wait to come in the door and have them jump on me in excitement. I can’t wait to walk them everyday. I can’t wait to love on them and have them sit next to me, comforting me as I comfort them in the knowledge that we love one another unconditionally.

What are some of your thoughts? As usual, let me know in the comments below. Make sure to follow me on Bluesky @silaslapham.bsky.social‬.