He almost made it to 15.

Rolo has been with us from almost the very beginning of our married life. We scooped him up when we were so young, we barely knew ourselves, let alone each other.

And for almost 15 years, he was there, through all the ways our life changed and grew.

When he first came home, we had so much love to give him, so much energy to pour into his furry existence. He came everywhere we went, we taught him tricks, he chewed our shoes and pooped on our sofa.

He was always so gentle with each child as they showed up, never once growling or nipping at them, instead just licking their cheeks and quietly letting himself get moved down another notch on the totem pole of family. After the kids grew up a little and I had more time, Rolo and I got to know each other all over again, and I took him for so many hikes and walks, his favourite. He let us pick up right from where we left off, and I am so thankful for that.

He marked who were were, and who we became. His greying muzzle, our crow’s feet.

Last night I laid on the floor with him, his head in my hands and my face level with his, and we said good-bye. He was so tired; it was time. And when it was over, he just looked so peaceful and like he was asleep, just how he’s spent so many hours of these last years of his life.

Then Steve and I wrapped him in a blanket, took him down to the bottom of the orchard and buried him on the land he’s walked his whole life.

Last night I dreamt that in the morning, he woke up. He was just a little sleepy, but he had cheated death. I guess that’s what I was somehow hoping for, for all of us. Loving a dog is like watching mortality on fast-forward, and it’s beautiful and terrible.

If you had told us on that first day we met him, all that the next 14 and 3/4 years would hold, I would have smiled and cried and taken that puppy in my arms and told him it was all going to be ok, just like we did last night.

Here’s a tribute to our best boy: