GOOD DOG
Nittany
2006 -2017
Life is hard. I say that a lot in this blog. But one of the gifts God gives us to make life a little less hard is the companionship of animals. In our family, that companionship has always come from dogs. It’s one reason this blog is called 2catrule—the Hills have always been dog people. (Not that there’s anything wrong with being a cat person. Okay… maybe there is. But I’ll leave it at this: we’re just dog people.)
There are all kinds of dogs in the world. Some are hyper and friendly, like Piper (our other lab). Some are nervous and timid. Some are lazy. And a few are just plain cool. But I’ve come to believe dogs are less a product of breeding and more a reflection of the families they belong to. Dogs become who we shape them to be—mirrors of the love, patience, or chaos around them.
Occasionally, though, there’s a special dog. One who changes you more than you change her. Nittany was that kind of dog.
From the moment we picked her up from a breeder near her namesake, Mount Nittany, she was kind and loving. She filled a gap in our family and helped bring kids from both Bobbi’s and my first marriages into a shared love for one very special dog. She became the steady, consistent heartbeat of our home—the piece that helped us become a family.
Andrew was 17, preparing for college. Collin was 9, just beginning to find himself. But no matter where we were in life, we all found joy in Nittany. She didn’t demand love—she simply was love, and you couldn’t help but give it back.
Through every season, Nittany was a constant source of comfort. She curled up with whoever was sick, wagged her tail and laid her head in your lap after a rough day at school, and somehow always knew which family member needed her most. Her emotional radar was uncanny—there when you needed closeness, giving you space when you needed solitude. She quietly taught us what true emotional support looks like.
When we first brought her home, Bobbi’s plan was for Nittany to live mainly in the garage. That lasted about a week. Soon she had the kitchen and dining room, then the bedrooms. That was Nittany—she always had her own plan, and by sheer gentle persistence, she found her way deeper into our home and our hearts.
Over the years, the seven au pairs who lived with us each tried to smuggle her back to their home countries at least once. Even after we adopted Piper five years ago, Nittany remained the lead dog. As Matthew said tonight, our home may have followed the 2catrule, but when it came to dogs, it was always a 1dogrule house—and Nittany set the rule.
Her last year was a hard one. Complications from diabetes required insulin, which eventually led to complete blindness. I became convinced she did this so I wouldn’t feel alone when I developed my own insulin dependency.
We didn’t realize how much she’d lost her sight until after we moved to Florida and she began walking straight into the pool. Yet even as her world grew darker, she never complained. She memorized our old house to hide her disability, and in the new one, she quickly learned the turns and steps. Every morning and night she waited patiently by the elevator for her ride to bed or food. She rolled with every punch life threw her way, tail wagging all the way to her last breath.
Even blind, she could still see better than the rest of us. Whenever Piper slipped out the door and bolted, all we had to do was put Nittany on a leash—she would unfailingly lead us to her. She always knew where her family was. She always knew how to bring us back together.
Nittany changed our hearts, our home, and our lives. She taught us how to comfort, how to love, and how to find one another when we’re lost. She will be missed—but she will always be with us.
She truly was a Good Dog.
Love, Dad