This morning was shitty. Really shitty. I knew yesterday Romeo would leave us this weekend, and I knew he needed to go. And, he did. A year ago I prepared myself (so I thought) to lose him, and he hung in there. He helped us through Christmas. He loved the girls while I was away. He waited. He waited so long.
This morning I talked to the ghost of my brother and asked him to come get Romeo. He’d been here for eight years, loving us, being giving us his all. Being the most amazing hound ever. It was time.
But I still wasn’t ready.
It’s not about me. It’s about a dog who gave us everything. When he came to us I had a long chat to him and I said, “You are here to be loved. It is my job to keep you safe, it is your job to have fun. I’m in charge, you will always be safe.”
And he was.
No matter what. Romeo was safe and loved and protected.
That was my job.
Our walks, when he was well, brought me absolute joy. He was always on the same page as me, knew exactly what I wanted when I wanted it. Romeo was spectacular. And I’ve always had great dogs. But he was special. So special.
He knew what the kids needed and provided it immediately. He heard, he listened, he understood beyond the words. He loved us with his whole heart. Always.
Run well my friend. Run well.