This is the hardest Fridays with Oscar I’ve ever had to write.
For years, this column has been a place of joy—sharing Oscar’s antics, his photobombs, his gentle soul with all of you. Today, it becomes something different. Today, it’s a love letter. A thank you. A goodbye.
My sweet Oscar crossed the rainbow bridge, peacefully at home, surrounded by the family who adored him. He left this world the same way he lived in it—with grace, with dignity, and wrapped in love.
The Beginning
I’ll never forget the day we brought Oscar home. At just 12 weeks old, he was all oversized paws and floppy ears, with eyes that seemed to hold wisdom far beyond his puppy years. We snapped his first photo and posted it to Instagram, never imagining what would unfold.
You fell in love with him immediately. The comments poured in. Who was this adorable German Shepherd puppy? Would we be sharing more of him? Could you see him again?
And so began a beautiful journey—one that would transform not just my social media, but my entire life.
How Oscar Changed Everything
When I started Style at a Certain Age, it was a fashion blog. Simple as that. Outfit ideas, style tips, and inspiration for women over 50 who refused to disappear into beige invisibility.
But Oscar had other plans.
He started appearing in the background of outfit photos. Then he’d wander into frame during filming. Before long, readers weren’t just asking about my jacket or my boots—they wanted to know about the handsome German Shepherd stealing the show.
So the blog evolved. Fridays with Oscar was born. And suddenly, this space became about more than just clothes. It became about life—the full, rich, sometimes messy life we live at this age. Oscar opened the door to sharing recipes and cocktails, to introducing you to Ollie (my Maine Coon who tolerates all of us with regal indifference), to making this community feel more like family.
Oscar reminded me that style isn’t just what you wear. It’s how you live. And he lived beautifully.
The Years After Mr. Style
Some of you have been with me long enough to remember 2019—the year my world shattered when I lost my beloved husband, Mr. Style.
Grief is a strange and lonely landscape. In those early days, I wasn’t sure how I would navigate it. The house felt too quiet. The evenings stretched too long. The future seemed impossibly empty.
But Oscar was there.
He seemed to understand, in that profound way dogs do, that something had fundamentally changed. He stayed closer. He rested his head on my lap during the moments when the sadness felt overwhelming. He’d nudge me to get up, to go outside, to keep moving when all I wanted to do was disappear.
Oscar became my anchor. My reason to get out of bed on the hard mornings. My companion during late-night writing sessions when sleep wouldn’t come. My protector, my comfort, my constant.
I’ve heard it said that dogs are angels with fur. I believe that now more than ever. Oscar was sent to me for a reason, and he fulfilled that purpose with every fiber of his being.
The Moments I’ll Treasure
There are so many memories, I hardly know where to begin.
The way he’d “talk” to me with those distinctive German Shepherd vocalizations—not quite barks, not quite howls, but something in between that always made me laugh.
His unwavering devotion to his spot on the sofa—the one he claimed in puppyhood and never gave up. And the guest room that was, in truth, Oscar’s room. He’d sit on the bed like a sentry, watching the window and making it very clear to those pesky deer—and anyone else wandering by—that they were trespassing in his kingdom.
The endless patience he showed when I’d ask him to pose “just one more time” for a photo, even when his expression clearly said he’d rather be doing literally anything else.
His gentle friendship with Ollie, who pretended to be annoyed by Oscar’s presence but would often curl up nearby, close enough to feel his warmth.
The way his tail would wag with his whole body whenever I came home, even if I’d only been gone for ten minutes. To Oscar, every reunion was cause for celebration.
And those eyes. Those soulful, knowing, infinitely loving eyes that could communicate more than words ever could.
To My Community
I want to thank each and every one of you who loved Oscar alongside me.
Thank you for your comments asking about him. Thank you for sharing stories of your own beloved pets. Thank you for understanding that sometimes, the best content isn’t perfectly curated—it’s real and messy and includes a German Shepherd’s nose in the corner of the frame.
You made Oscar a star, and more importantly, you made him feel loved by people he’d never even met. I read your comments to him, you know. I’d scroll through and tell him, “Look, Oscar, Sharon from Ohio says you’re the most handsome boy she’s ever seen.” And his tail would wag, because I think somehow he knew.
This community has carried me through so many seasons. You celebrated with me. You grieved with me when I lost Mr. Style. And now, I know you’ll grieve with me again.
That’s what family does.
What Comes Next
I won’t pretend to know exactly what Fridays with Oscar looks like going forward. What I do know is this: it will remain a place for the things we’ve always loved—recipes, cocktails, and the cozy rituals that make a house feel like home. And we’ll keep the name. It’s too meaningful to abandon, and it will always be in honor of him.
The shape of it may change. Maybe it becomes a space that weaves in a bit more about the pets who bring so much joy to our lives. Maybe it becomes a gentle way to honor Oscar’s memory alongside the everyday moments that keep us going. Maybe it evolves into something I can’t yet imagine. Grief has a way of rearranging the furniture in your heart—whether you asked it to or not.
Right now, I’m taking it one day at a time. Ollie is staying closer than usual, and I think she knows something is different. The house is quieter. Oscar’s favorite spot on the sofa is still empty, and I can’t bring myself to sit there yet. Ollie has been sleeping on his bed beside my desk, like she’s keeping watch. Animals are so incredibly intuitive.
But I’m okay. Sad, yes. Heartbroken, absolutely. But okay.
Because here’s what I know for certain: I was lucky. So incredibly lucky to have been chosen by Oscar. Eleven years of unconditional love, unwavering loyalty, and the kind of companionship that makes life infinitely richer.
Not everyone gets that. I did. And I will be grateful for it every single day for the rest of my life.
Until We Meet Again
Even as his body was failing him, Oscar stayed valiant. He still raced to the front door like nothing had changed—still tried to fly down the stairs on pure willpower alone, until his hind legs betrayed him. Then he’d head to the laundry room, straight to the treat stash, like a man keeping the important rituals intact.
And somehow, his last day was filled with joy. Pax came over to play. Jess snapped photos. The sun showed up like it understood the assignment. Oscar sat on his hill and surveyed his land—calm, proud, and completely himself.
That’s the picture I’m keeping.
Oscar, my sweet, beautiful, noble boy.
Thank you for the morning snuggles and the evening walks. Thank you for making me laugh on days when laughter felt impossible. Thank you for being exactly what I needed, exactly when I needed it.
Thank you for showing me that love doesn’t require words. That loyalty is shown through presence. That the simplest moments—a head on a lap, a tail wagging at the door—are often the most profound.
You were my best friend. My confidant. My furry soulmate.
I will carry you in my heart forever. And one day, when it’s my turn to leave this earth, I know you’ll be there waiting along with Mr. Style—tail wagging, whole body wiggling with joy—ready for our next walk together.
Until then, rest easy, sweet Oscar. You were the very best boy. And my best friend.
All my love, always, Beth
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