The Last Goodbye

Saying goodbye to the last living piece of my father

Photo by on

I just wanted to write something, as I don’t think I will be back on here for a couple of weeks. We‘ve decided to have my dog put down next week.

He’s fifteen. He has arthritis, dementia, and he’s in rapid decline. It’s pretty upsetting because we love him so much. He’s fading and can hardly walk.

He was my dog first. I got him when I was struggling with depression, and he saved me, just by being there. No questions. No expectations. Just steady, unconditional love.

He’s literally my therapy dog. Always there when I’m upset, licking my face. It’s like he gets me. He gets my soul.

I don’t think I’d have made it through some days without him.

When I moved out, he became my dad’s dog. They had their own thing — walks, treats, quiet companionship. He loved my dad so much. And when my dad died, he became mine again. The last bit of my dad still walking around. I never thought he would be going to a better place as well six months after my dad.

There was a funny moment yesterday when he saw a man come to the door and he whined and thought it was my dad. It almost broke my heart.

The odd thing is that his sight and hearing is really bad. But he must’ve seen…