My love, today would have been your 16th birthday.

Tomorrow you will have been gone 12 weeks.

I’d like to think in those precious 15 years and 10 months I showed you every single day just how precious you were and how very much I loved you.

Our life together was blessed, there is no other way to describe it. Most of those 15 years and 10 months we slept in the same bed, sometimes side-by-side, sometimes one of us (usually me) more uncomfortable than the other, but I cherished those times. Many was the night I’d wake up to find your head on my shoulder or stomach and I would smile to myself and tuck that memory away, because I knew one day, one day, you wouldn’t be with me anymore and all I would have was those memories.

When you were just a wee pup, I think you’d been with us about a month or so, I came down to find you covered in your own filth in your crate, you looked so sad, it broke my heart. You were SO sick.  I cleaned you up and got you an appointment with the vet.  I remember crying as I waited for the appointment and saying to myself, I don’t care if it costs $5,000, I’m going to save this boy. Thankfully, it was a case of gastritis, which cleared up pretty quickly with medicine and the boiled Hamburg/rice mixture I made you.

Funny story with that, you loved that food and quickly came to realize when I opened the refrigerator and pulled the container out, that it was yours. When the time finally came to switch you back to your traditional food, I found myself with some leftover Hamburg/rice mixture.  I decided to make stuffed peppers with it.  Of course, I pulled the container out and you let me know in no uncertain terms that food was yours.  Oh how I laughed about that.

When you were a puppy the dog Daddy was determined that you would NOT sleep in the bed with us, but I hated you being in the crate. So I would sleep downstairs on the couch until about midnight, let you out, put you in the crate and go to bed. The Daddy started work very early, so he would get up about 3:30, let you out and bring you up to snuggle with me. The first big road trip we took (to Florida, for Lisa’s wedding) at exactly 3:30 am, you crept to the front of the back seat and laid your head on the console between us.  You knew exactly what time it was.  Snuggle time. That was also the trip when you did sleep in bed with us and we continued the tradition when we went home.

You absolutely loved to be petted, especially your ears. One time (I think it was after you were neutered,) I was watching you sleep and I was rubbing your ears and you were smiling and I thought to myself, one day I will have to hold this head and let him go.

That was always the day I dreaded.

When you turned eight, I was convinced our time left together was shorter than we’d had.  You were a big dog and everyone said, big dogs don’t live that long. We took a walk in the woods that year for your birthday and I cried the entire walk, convinced our parting was imminent.

But you kept going.  Yes, the later years brought health challenges.  Mostly mobility issues, but you still soldiered on.

You loved your walks and you loved walks in the woods.  It is a deep regret of mine I didn’t get you up there one last time.

You also loved your people. Once you claimed someone, you knew it and you let them know it too. We would set out for our 15 minute walk and come back an hour later because you saw one of your people and we stopped for pets for you and a chat for me.  I’m blessed to know so many wonderful people because of you and that “Roo-Roo” hello you always greeted everyone with.

The end was hard. It didn’t come without a lot of thought, talking and crying. I was determined not to hold on to you for me, but there were so many times I’ve second guessed myself.

We had made the decision to let you go in February, after the day you couldn’t lift yourself up.  But then, something wondrous happened. Days of Grace. There were so many times I thought, this is it, we need to do this, but then you would have better days and I waited.

Oh I took shit for it, but I was waiting for you to tell me you were ready and I felt certain you would. In fact, right around Christmas you looked at me and I thought, he’s letting me know he’s leaving soon and honestly, I was at peace with that.  I knew what a wonderful life we had and I was okay with you leaving.  I was just not okay being the one to make that decision.

I want you to know, it wasn’t your mobility issues that pushed the decision.  I was truly okay with helping you walk and I would have continued to do so until the end of time. In fact, I’m so grateful I was able to spend those last weeks home with you, giving you your walks when it worked best for you.

What really concerned me was your panting.  You had episodes where you’d pant heavily for a while.  I’d give you a calming chew and lie with you wherever you were until the panting stopped. We could never really figure out WHY you’d pant.  Were you in pain? Anxious? Confused?  I was worried you’d have one of your panting episodes when I wasn’t here and you’d be all alone trying to deal with it.

So we determined it was time.  I made the appointment to have someone come to the house.  Once I made that decision, it was like you KNEW, you walked without help, in fact, you tried running down the street.  You didn’t have any panting episodes, so of course, I doubted myself again.

But the last day, the panting came back.  Even though I KNEW it was time, it felt so surreal.  I remember Julie said that to me about Cali, surreal, it’s a truly accurate description.

It broke me to let you go.  I mean, like literally broke me. A month after you left I came down with sciatica pain and I’ve been battling it ever since. The professionals say pain can be caused by grief and if that’s the case, my grief is a bright red, throbbing muscle in my leg and butt. I’m trying to work through it, but it’s hard, you were the one who always helped me work things through.

And now it’s been 12 weeks, it seems like yesterday, but also like forever.  When we started this year I thought, maybe, maybe we might make 16.

We almost did.

Sampson Aragorn Stone – July 30, 2004 – May 8, 2020

Run fast, run free my love, until we meet again.

Author’s Note: There are books to help you deal with the loss of your pet.  Support groups on Facebook and in real life.  Counselors who can help you work through your grief.  I am working through mine. It is NOT easy. The bond Sampson and I had was extremely deep.  It hurts me to be without him. It hurts me when someone says, “He was in pain.” “You did the right thing.” “He’s in a better place.” Those things might make some people feel better, but not me. 

“Grief is like an ocean, some days it is calm, and some days it can seem endless and come at you in waves.” Author, Jodi Stone.