Gotcha Day

8/19/16

We got you back in 2016 when we were still newly dating.  Yes, it’s true. I wasn’t sure if a dog was a good idea.  And yes, it’s also true that I didn’t want a greyhound or think they were cute.  Andrew had met you 2 weeks prior and fell in love.  I saw pictures and still, truthfully, wasn’t sold on the idea of you, but we spent a 2-hour car drive going through every dog name possible, thinking we’d rename you like you could be anyone other than Jackson. (What's funnier is that we ended up calling you Doggo more than Jackson, and you responded to that name more.)   After our summer vacation, we got home and drove to NGAP in Northeast Philly on a Friday afternoon to take you home forever.  This is the first time we met, and the rest is history.  It was instant love.     

I’ve never been a dog person, but I quickly became a “my dog” person.  Truthfully, I’m scared I might remain a “Jackson” only dog person.  You grew up with us.  You taught us so much about ourselves and how to be better versions of ourselves.  You taught us responsibility and the importance of routines and structure.  You taught me patience, though I only seem to have had it with you.  And while I don’t think my life needed saving when I met you in 2016, over the past few years, it certainly has, and you saved my life over and over again.  You gave me purpose and reasons to carry on.  I never had to talk or tell you I was sad or in pain — you just knew.  You’d snuggle up next to me or put your head on my belly or leg and look at me, letting me know, “I love you.”      

I didn’t know a love like this could exist.  The most purest forms of unconditional love.

You loved me through every version of myself over the years, and this past year, when I’ve hated myself a lot, I think you loved me even more to make up for all the love I don’t have for myself now.  I used to joke that we should’ve named you Shadow because you were my Shadow.  Always by my side, all the time.   

Things that aren’t the same without you (these moments specifically have been unsettling because, honestly, nothing is the same without you)

1. Opening the cheese drawer in the fridge & not hearing you run into the kitchen.

2. Opening the silverware drawer to get a spoon as I place the huge peanut butter container on the counter.  How did you always know when I was getting peanut butter out?!

3. Not hearing the jingle of your collar or your pitter-patter running to the door as I unlock it.

4. Your morning whimpers, being somewhat impatient waiting for your humans to get up and walk you.

5. Seeing your empty bed(s) with all your stuffies and not having you carrying them around (everywhere).

6. Being out at night and thinking, "We need to get home to let Jackson out." We grabbed a beer Wednesday night, and I was literally so antsy toward 9:00 because it felt wrong being out.

7. The post-run naps and snuggles we had.

Almost 8 whole years together.  Our ending breaks my heart.  It’s not fair.

Everyone told us the most selfless thing we could do next, the gift we had to give you after everything you gave us, was letting you go.  Letting you be at peace, no longer in pain.  I hope you know this was the hardest decision of our lives, and while I know it was the right one, it hurts so much.   

To the best boy ever.  The sweetest, most precious dog.  Even people who didn’t like dogs liked you; that’s how sweet you were — my baby boy.  There will never be another dog like you.

If our love could’ve saved you, you would’ve lived forever.  I love you so much, my Pupper boy, and I will miss you forever. Thank you.