Gilbert the Golden Retriever Deserved to Lie in State—And So Do All the Dogs Who’ve Saved Us

This past Friday, inside the Minnesota State Capitol, history was made in more ways than one. Melissa Hortman, the former state House speaker and a towering Democratic leader, lay in state beside her husband, Peter. But it wasn’t just the two of them.

It was Gilbert, too.

Their golden retriever—fatally wounded in the same violent attack that took both of their lives—was there with them one final time, his ashes resting in a gold-colored urn beside the caskets. Flowers adorned one pedestal. Milk-Bone dog biscuits sat nearby. A handwritten note read, “For the best boy, Gilbert.”

It was heartbreaking. It was powerful. And it was exactly right.

We talk about “man’s best friend” like it’s a cute expression. But those of us who live with dogs—who love them, rely on them, are comforted by them—know it’s not just a saying. It’s a sacred truth.

Months ago, I wrote a piece for The American Thinker defending dogs from a ridiculous smear campaign that claimed they were environmental villains. I called it absurd then—and I’ll double down on that today. Because if ever there were a moment to remind us of the profound, irreplaceable role dogs play in our lives, it was that quiet, reverent goodbye to Gilbert.

This wasn’t about sentimentality. This was about love. Loyalty. Loss. Gilbert was more than a pet. He was family.

I don’t know what it is about dogs that makes their companionship feel so divine. Maybe it’s the way they sense when you’re broken before you even say a word. Maybe it’s the way they forgive so effortlessly, love so unconditionally, and ask for so little in return. Maybe it’s the quiet moments—the warm weight of a head on your knee after a long day, or the ecstatic tail wags when you walk through the door—that somehow remind us what it means to be truly alive.

When I saw that Gilbert was given a place of honor beside his humans, I cried. And I wasn’t alone. The hundreds who lined up to pay their respects weren’t just mourning the loss of two public servants—they were grieving a symbol of devotion we all recognize. We’ve all known a Gilbert.

Some will say, “It’s just a dog.” But no one who has ever loved one would say that. Gilbert died trying to protect the people he loved. Isn’t that what we honor in our soldiers, our police officers, our heroes? Then why shouldn’t a dog who stood watch until the end be honored too?

In a world where we often get so much wrong—where blame is misplaced, where priorities are upside down, where outrage is cheap and honor is rare—this small, quiet tribute was a moment of grace.

Dogs like Gilbert are not environmental threats. They’re emotional lifelines. They’re first responders in fur coats. They’re therapists without a couch, teachers without words, and best friends without expiration dates.

They teach our children empathy. They get us off the couch and into the sunshine. They pull us out of grief, depression, and isolation. They have helped veterans heal from the wounds of war. They’ve sniffed out bombs, alerted us to seizures, comforted the dying, and rescued the lost. And yes, sometimes, they lay down their lives beside ours—because that’s what loyalty looks like.

We can debate policy all day long, but there are some truths we should agree on as a country. One of them is this: Dogs matter. They always have. They always will.

Gilbert didn’t wear a uniform. But he wore a badge of courage that no one can take away. He followed his family from this life to the next, and in doing so, he reminded all of us that love like his is rare—and worth remembering.

So to Gilbert, and to every dog who’s curled up beside us when we cried, waited by the door when we were late, or barked at shadows they were willing to fight on our behalf: thank you.

You are not villains.

You are not a threat to the environment.

You are heroes in a world that desperately needs more of them.

Rest easy, sweet boy. You did your job well.