I can always tell what’s going on between my dog’s ears by watching his tail. A hanging, straight tail means nothing’s happening. A gently waving tail indicates mild happiness. A stiff, angled tail shows something needs to be investigated because there may be a problem. A wildly waving tail that can whip things of value off a coffee table signals tremendous excitement and joy.

Nixon, my thoughtful and centered chocolate Labrador Retriever, was a steady tail-wagger. He wagged from the time he woke up until the time he went to bed. Nothing fancy, just continuous — like a doggie metronome. He used different wag settings depending on the circumstances, but his default wag was a straight side-to-side motion that never stopped. One time he got “cold tail” after his tail-wagging muscle reacted to chilly water and he didn’t wag for a week. I missed seeing his ongoing, quiet enthusiasm for life and was relieved when the muscle started working again and the wag-machine was back in business.

I said goodbye to Nixon three weeks ago. He’d had a long life but, you know, it wasn’t long enough for me. It never is. I’ve outlived nine furry family members and I’m here to tell you saying goodbye never gets any easier.

I lost my faithful Hank one year ago and this is the first time I’ve been able to talk about it. Hank wasn’t a big tail-wagger but he signaled his thoughts and feelings by holding his tail at different angles. He always knew exactly what was going on in his backyard (tail out straight), what time lunch was served (tail up), and where to find me (tail at half-mast).

Hank also was a chocolate Lab and he was three years old when he came to live with me. Hank taught me what I needed to know about Labs — that they are happy, playful, and youthful well into old age. Also they never miss a meal. And they do love to eat. Even after they’ve had breakfast or dinner, they’re ready for seconds.

I learned that nothing really bothers a Lab. They’re not particularly territorial (like Sydney the German Shepherd). They don’t occasionally come on strong (like Buffett the Pitty-mix). They’re not hugely needy (like Mr. Whiskers, the Terrier mix).

Nixon was also three when he found us. Unlike Hank, Nixon didn’t do hugs and wasn’t cuddly. He was a serious boy who spotted the cottontail rabbit, but didn’t lunge at it. He watched Canada geese fly over his yard and would chase after them but he let Hank do the barking. He loved racing along the see-through fence lines that he shared with two Rotties on the side and two Labs in the back.

Hank and Nixon were just happy to see the sun rise and the rest of the day was a cake walk. Hank and Nixon always knew there was fun to be had and they brought joy into every day. They were pals and play-buddies. They were my boon companions on hikes and road trips.

There must be a “in sickness and health” dog version of vows because they kept me company every time I recovered from surgery, crowding around me and making it tough for Glenn to get past them to bring me food, medicine, ice, and so forth. Hank organized the greeting committee on the other side of the door every time I came home and I’d wade through furry hellos on my way in with a haul of groceries or dry cleaning. I always knew when it was 2 p.m. because Nixon never failed to remind me with wriggles and grins that it was lunchtime.

My two precious chocolates. These are my memories to finally share. And this is my tribute to two beloved friends and family members who live forever in my heart.