This little guy is the best boy in the whole world. Even post-shaved and tuckered out, he’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
Last night, his old age and sickness took him away from me and this first day without him is already proving to be a difficult one.
It was too quiet when I woke up this morning — That was the first thing I noticed. There was no snorting or snoring next to me in bed. I didn’t wake up in the middle of the night to scooch him over because he was pressed up against me and somehow taking up most of the bed space. And that was hard to comprehend.
I instinctively looked toward my bedroom door where a water bowl sits. Usually I hear his padded footsteps on the carpet, then a thump from his nose pushing the door open, then a jingle from his collar tags hitting the water bowl and then slurping in gulps of 2 and 3. He would usually check to see if I was awake and either turn around to find his bed in the living room or push the door further and walk to the foot of my bed and wait for me to get up, pick him up, and put him on this pink blanket. I’d then get back in bed and after a few minutes, he’d climb up toward me and the pillow mountain I made and snuggle there.
The apartment I share with my dad feels empty.
At first I was bitter and didn’t understand how pet owners could go through this kind of thing over and over again. But when I think of how much of a good boy he was, it would have been worse to not have him at all.
I grew up with Romeo, he was the “family dog”, but it feels like I lost a family member rather than a pet. I know I’m not alone in this. He wasn’t just a dog to any of us — he was one of us — a Lupkin — a derpy, quirky, sometimes grumbly, definitely cuddly, temperamental, loving being.
As much as he was our dog, we were his people.
35mm Kodak film