Dang, boy.

When we were 20, overconfident and underfunded we bought you from a pet shop in Salt Lake City. As the other puppies ran and yipped, you laid lazily in the morning sun of that shop. We were all puppies together in those days: young and wild and tiny.

And the sun nurtured us and we all grew. Our home was always warm and cozy because you made it that way.

Our family grew and you looked after all of us. My boy, you were never unkind. You cared for all three of my babies like they belonged to you, but really who is to say they didn’t.

Last night I pulled into the driveway and heard a whimper; you were laying shivering in the ditch on the side of the road. In the decade plus that I have been with you, it is a sound I have infrequently heard. I picked you up and held you to comfort your cries. You have given me scares before: running away, breaking bones, I assumed you would be ok.

This morning at the vet’s office Sarah and I gathered around you with reverence. The original unit, now disbanding. The years of laughs and tears and cuddles, at an impasse. We both silently cried and rubbed your ears, you always loved that. You didn’t cry, you were a good boy. You were always such a good boy.

I went to the window and opened the blinds and the sun slipped through the slats. There you were again; my puppy in the petshop sun. Our tears pooled in our tired laps and you climbed that sunshine, warm and no longer hurting.

Last night before the world ended, the house slowly fell asleep and I had a feeling that I would only get one last picture of you. I laid on the floor with you and as you finally stopped crying I began.

I love you Harvey. You were a good boy.