I’ve made three decisions in my life with animals that are considered controversial by others: I decided to kill Orson after he bit three people, including a child; I sent Elvis, my Swiss Steer, to market to feed the residents of a homeless shelter, I gave Homer, my border collie, to a neighbor’s family in New Jersey. In the world of people who lived with animals, none of these decisions were surprising or controversial, on the edges of the pet world they were often seen as cruel or callous and unforgivable.

It’s curious, but I consider all three among the most loving and humane decisions I have ever made, and would make every one of them again in a minute. I got Homer shortly after I got Rose and while I had Orson, and from the first, he was much overshadowed by both of them. He was a show dog, not a working dog or herding dog, and while I was very fond of him, I did not really connect with him. He eluded me, annoyed me, was not the dog for me.

Homer was a border collie from Texas, he graced the cover of my first dog book, “A Good Dog,” which launched my animal writing career and life.

He was not as interesting to me as Orson, not as tied to me as Rose. In my own life, my father often branded me a sissy, he was unhappy with my decision not to play sports. He was contemptuous of my writing, my tropical fish, my brooding and solitary life as a child, angry at my bed-wetting, frustrated by my unyielding refusal to accept his view of my world.

I have studied animal attachment for years and have learned to look in my own mirror when it comes to my relationship with dogs. I think I often projected my father’s judgements onto Homer, I thought of him as weak and frustrating. One day I yelled at him for not keeping up with us on our walk, and I knew that day that I needed to find him a better home, one where his sweet and loyal and gentle nature would be appreciated. I did not want to give him a version of my own life with my father.

A neighbor’s boy, Max, loved Homer, came down the block to play with him, and Homer loved Max back, I think he especially loved being loved uncritically and unconditionally, their relationship was pure joy and connection. Homer and Max would just light up when they saw one another, it was one of those powerful human-animal bond matches.

I understand that giving a dog away is heresy to some of the people who define love differently than I do. I saw how happy Homer was with Max, how different he was with me, how nervous he was in the shadow of the domineering Rose and Orson, neither of whom paid him much mind. Rose and I had already formed a powerful connection, we just got one another, and I was eager to live and work with her. I loved Orson in a different way, but just as much, as damaged and troubled as he was. My obligation was to give Homer the best possible life, and if I could not, then to get him to someone who could. It is not loving to bind a dog to you if you cannot love them fully.

I asked Max’s dad if they would let Homer stay with them while I was away, and they eagerly accepted the offer. It was clear to me that Homer would get the life he deserved there, he would be an only dog in a loving and doting family that was looking for a gentle and loyal house dog, not a working or sheepherding or farm dog, it was not fair to subject Homer to my own expectations of  him, I did not want to sound like my father or be like him.

Killing one of my dogs and giving the other away permanently branded me a pariah in some corners of the animal world, I get angry messages still about both dogs. But I am at peace with it, sometimes you love something by letting it go, we all walk in our own shoes.

Homer’s owners wrote me this week to tell me  that Homer was put down last week, he had been struggling for six months – low energy, falling and seizures. “It is hard for me to imagine a smarter, warmer, more loyal, more adorable animal – canine or human,” wrote Max’s father. “Thanks to you, we were fortunate to have had Homer in our lives the last 10 years, a gift for which we are eternally grateful. He will be deeply, deeply, missed.”

I am grateful for the note, happy to have provided such a gift for this family and for Homer. He was not the dog for the adventures ahead, not the dog to live on Bedlam Farm, not the dog to chase sheep around steep meadows in blizzards,, fend off rams, dodge the kicks of donkeys, watch the back of his disintegrating human. It is wonderful to give a dog the life he or she deserves, and Rose got that and so did Homer. Orson, alas, did not get the chance, he forfeited that right in my mind when he began hurting people.

Dog are the mirrors of our lives, they reflect us, and our passages through life, or flaws and strength, our ups and downs, our rises and falls. I cannot say I truly loved Homer, I did not, but say I am so glad he was able to get the life he so richly deserved, I was true to our bond and our contract.  Homer, you were a sweet and loving animal, good for you for bringing so much love and happiness to your family, I am so happy you got to live your life. Sorry, Dad, you did your best, but you taught me in many ways that might surprise you what it really means to love.