Sunny's death reminds us that the Obamas value authenticity
By Maya Ellison · Reporting from Detroit ·
The news hit the feeds on Wednesday: Sunny, the Portuguese water dog who spent thirteen years as a fixture of the Obama family, has died.
The news hit the feeds on Wednesday: Sunny, the Portuguese water dog who spent thirteen years as a fixture of the Obama family, has died. According to ABC News, the former president and first lady described her as a “force of nature,” a dog who spent her youth leaping over the hedges of the South Lawn as if the boundaries of the most powerful house in the world didn't apply to her. She died Tuesday, leaving a void that the Obamas say they will "miss terribly."
For some, this is a triviality—a celebrity pet's passing. But for those of us who grew up in places like Flint, where the state treats people like disposable assets and the "hedges" are usually fences keeping us out of the places where decisions are made, there is something vital in the public mourning of a dog. It is a reminder that even in the sterile, high-stakes machinery of Washington, the only thing that remains honest is the bond between a human and a creature that doesn't care about your polling numbers or your legacy.
The Archive of a Living Bond
The grief the Obamas are feeling now isn't an isolated event; it's a recurring chapter in a larger story of loss. We saw this before with the Death of Bo in 2021, when the family lost their first dog to cancer. There is a specific, heavy rhythm to this kind of mourning. When I look at the trajectory of these pets, I see the "Life of Bo and Sunny"—not just as a sequence of years, but as a shared mechanism where the life and death of specific animals become the primary subject of a public record. Just as a performer's career is archived through their roles, the Obamas' tenure and post-presidency are archived through these dogs. Sunny wasn't just a pet; she was a living witness to the transition from the intensity of the White House to the relative quiet of private life.
This isn't a new pattern. The record of the first family's pets is a long one, stretching back to the Bo and Sunny (2009) era and further to the days of LBJ’s beagle, Him. These animals serve as the emotional ballast for people who are otherwise surrounded by advisors, security details, and the crushing weight of global expectation. The Death of Sunny is the closing of a specific book—a thirteen-year ledger of loyalty that started in Michigan in August 2013 and ended in a world far different from the one Sunny first entered.
The Fallacy of the "Just a Dog" Argument
There will be those—likely the same people who argue that healthcare is a luxury or that union wages are "inflationary"—who will claim that the public's attention is being wasted on a dog. Their strongest case is that the presidency is an office of state, not a domestic diary, and that the mourning of a pet is a sentimental distraction from the "real" work of politics. They would argue that the dignity of the office is diminished when it is reduced to social media posts about a dog who "hated getting wet."
But that argument fails because it ignores the fundamental truth of power: power is dehumanizing. The only way to survive the vacuum of Washington without losing your soul is to cling to something that is unconditionally real. As NBC News reminded us, Harry S. Truman once said, "If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog." Truman wasn't talking about companionship; he was talking about survival. When you are the most powerful person on earth, everyone wants something from you. A dog is the only entity in the zip code that wants nothing but your presence. To dismiss the loss of Sunny is to dismiss the only authentic relationship a president can have in a city built on transactions.
The Void of the Unfeeling Office
The contrast here is stark. NBC News noted that Donald Trump had no pets at the White House. That isn't just a trivia point; it's a tell. It speaks to a fundamental difference in how one views the world—whether as a place of connection and vulnerability or as a place of dominance and image. The Obamas’ willingness to be public with their grief, from the Death of Champ (2009) dynamics to the loss of Sunny, shows a capacity for empathy that is often missing from the halls of power.
As the family shares more photos of Sunny leaping those South Lawn hedges, we are seeing the final echoes of a specific kind of leadership—one that acknowledged the value of the small, the loyal, and the "perfectly" imperfect. The hypothesis that they might adopt another dog to fill the void is a hopeful one, because it suggests a continued belief in the necessity of that emotional anchor.
The death of a dog is a private tragedy, but when it happens to the people who once held the levers of the world, it becomes a public lesson. It tells us that no matter how high the office or how vast the wealth, the only thing that actually matters at the end of the day is who stayed by your side. In a city of ghosts and grifters, Sunny was the only one who was truly loyal, and her absence is a reminder that the most valuable things in life are the ones that cannot be bought, legislated, or campaigned for.