The “he” in this case was Rusty, an ornery old mutt who didn’t do the cute doggy things that get clicks on social media videos. He wouldn’t “sit.” He’d rarely lick my face. And if a baby was gurgling nearby, he’d go the other way.

But Rusty had two things going for him. He was part Chihuahua, which meant he was small with a cute face. Strangers took him for a puppy even in his advanced years. Rusty tried to set them straight. If someone picked him up the wrong way, he’d growl and clamp his teeth around the person’s arm.

But he was human. We communicated on a human level in a way I never could with other dogs, no matter how lovable. And his sad backstory explained a lot. Some years ago, Rusty was attacked by a big dog and almost died. That left him with a rib injury that hurt a great deal when people picked him up from the front. I soon learned to pick him up from the behind, which he clearly appreciated since he did like sitting on laps.

I’d see Rusty on walks with his original family, which included two other small dogs. They moved at a brisk pace, and Rusty bravely struggled to keep up.

The family had two rambunctious girls. Rusty wasn’t much of a playmate. He preferred being the only dog in the quiet house where I was overseeing care of an elderly friend. Rusty would regularly run to our door and quietly wait outside for entry. He’d lie down under the dining table where we ate.

After dinner, Rusty would sit on my lap. When one of the girls stopped by to take him home, Rusty would often growl at her. Sometimes I had to drag him home.

I admit that I enjoyed being the preferred human. On the other hand, how did the good opinion of a grouchy old mutt become so important to me?

It was clear that Rusty was reaching the end. I would walk him at times, often leaving the leash at home because we were on a dead-end street. One time, I started a walk. and a few paces from the property, Rusty stopped and looked at me beseechingly. He couldn’t go farther. I nodded at him, and we returned.

He was hurting and in decline. I knew it, and he knew I knew it.

When my older friend died, I moved out of the house. Rusty’s “mother” offered to let me keep him. He was obviously happier being with me. I couldn’t accept the offer because I was traveling and unable to provide a stable environment

When the house was emptied and I was leaving for the last time, the mother came over with Rusty to say goodbye. Rusty followed me from empty room to empty room. When a door was closed between him and me, he would cry.

My heart broke. As it happened, Rusty died a short time later. Whether it was from natural causes, he was put down or a combination, I didn’t know. He was certainly on the way out.

But ever since, I felt guilty for not taking Rusty with me and comforting him in his last days, as I would a dear human friend. My personality is prone to guilt, and I think of him a lot.

Many of us love our dogs to pieces. But based on the videos, the affection often seems tied to their frenetic cuddling and rolling around when the owner comes home. Rusty did not do that. Our relationship wasn’t human to dog but human to human.

Still hard to explain.