I lost my best boy Sunday morning. For the last eight years, he was never far from my side and we took care of each other. I tended to his physical wounds he had as a tiny foundling (in the parking lot of a liquor store in the middle of a thunderstorm) after I adopted him and he took care of my mental wounds, which ran just as deep.
He wanted to be wherever I was, always watching and preferably helping. When I was at my desk, he was either at my feet or perched up behind me, watching intently. When I was in the kitchen cooking, he would watch me from the top of the stairs, sitting propped up in his weird little way. If I was in my workshop making something, he’d be right in the middle of it. He came to me in the exact right time and left way too soon.
Goodbye, Charlie. I miss you so much already.