Dear Faro,
I went for a walk in the forest, down our usual path, and I saw your footprints on the snow. They are still there.
That’s when I cried for the first time.
I looked back, fully expecting to see you somewhere nearby, taking the sweet time that a 13-year-old dog is entitled to take to stroll through the woods. But you never came.
That’s when I cried for the second time.
Fine, to be quite honest, I had already cried earlier today. Many times. I think I lost count.
Why shouldn’t I? I will never rest my face into the nape of your neck again. I saw you fall asleep for the last time a few hours ago and it broke my heart. I stayed beside you until the end, gently stroking your head, whispering the same kind words you heard during your life: good boy, I love you, it’s ok.
You were a good boy.
I loved you. I still do.
And I think it was the right thing to do. You deserved to rest. You deserved a farewell with dignity and at home, with us. But the right thing does not always mean the painless one. Everything hurts right now.
I have so many memories of us together. We have so many memories of us together, Faro, Farín, cocodrilo, peludo. Every single time my mind wanders I remember any of the thousand times we walked, played, explored, or rested together, and the tears come back.
I guess crying like this means I got really lucky: to meet you, to have loved you, to have been loved by you. I never knew a bond like this existed until you came into my life.
You were my first dog. I tried my best. I hope you noticed. I firmly believe you made me a better person but I still apologize for each time I got angry. For each time I lost my patience or did not understand. You were the dog I would have scripted in a wish list. I hope I was good enough.
I tried my best, to help you grow and become a kind, social dog. Which you naturally were, anyway.
I tried my best to train you so we could all live under the same roof in peace. You trained me to accept the reality: I was allowed to make suggestions and you would take them under consideration…
I tried my best, to stay beside you when you fell sick or injured yourself. You know you gave me a double handful of sleepless nights, some of which I spent literally hugging you, hoping things would be ok. I will now cherish those harsh nights for the rest of my life. Damn, I would trade whichever random great day life has in store for me down the road to relive any of those rough nights. Just to feel your presence beside me, one more time.
I know, I know, life continues for us. But please understand: it won’t be the same. Leah will turn 6 in June. She cried once she understood you are not coming back. Between sobs she kept saying how much she misses you. That was less than an hour after you were gone. That’s the imprint you left, Farín.
Keep in mind, she was 3 days old when you guys met, remember? You guarded her cradle for two hours until we convinced you she was safe.
I am proud to have witnessed how you bonded and grew together. She strode into her childhood, you into your golden years. Do you remember when, aged 2, she would clumsily try to walk you on leash? Memories, again, blurring my keyboard.
I never knew grief was payback: for all the joy I experienced having you in my life, the same amount of concentrated pain seems to be rushing through my soul, all at once. That’s a lot to take in. But worth it. I would do it again a thousand times.
That said, let’s not kid ourselves here: we all could see your decline coming for a while. You knew it as well as we did. We’ll spare the details. But we tried to fight. We fought for every good minute of good time together still up for grabs. At the end, the finish line caught up with us. I tried to brace for impact but that was wishful thinking. I would have never been ready for this.
You know what? I could keep writing the whole night and still not convey what you meant for me. But I won’t try to do it. I won’t write the whole night, cocodrilo. I know you knew. Let this be the last time that you and me talk to one another without words.
Once she calmed down, Leah asked why you can’t be with us forever. I think you will. Unlike your footprints on the snow -pawprints, sorry- you will never fade away. You will never be forgotten.
I miss you.
I will always love you, Faro.
Thank you.
