It’s hard to put into words how much love, joy, and heartbreak a dog can bring into your life. My dog, who was rescued as a puppy by my sister from an abusive situation, was no exception. He wasn’t just a pet; he was a force of nature. From the moment he entered our lives, he was never treated like a fragile, toy-sized dog. He had a real-life—a dog’s life—filled with adventure, mischief, and love.

Despite his small size, he lived with the energy and spirit of a much larger dog. Family and friends spoiled him, yet he was the kind of dog who’d start riots at the park, pick fights with dogs three times his size, and frequently visit the vet for one fix or another. But that was just part of who he was. He was a tornado of energy during his youth, and it was a pleasure to watch him mature into an educated, happy, and cherished companion.

Over time, though, age caught up with him. His adventurous spirit remained strong, but his body began to fail. A mix of breed defects and wear and tear led to mobility issues in his senior years. He endured two knee replacements, a broken leg that required an iron plate, the loss of one eye, and eventually, he became blind and deaf. All his teeth were gone by the end. But even with all these struggles, he never lost his joy for life. His appetite stayed hearty, and he always wanted to be cuddled and play. Even in pain, he was a happy dog, and his resilience amazed me every day.

Then came the hardest decision my sister and I have ever had to make. Euthanasia is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. It is a decision that weighs so heavily on the heart, but seeing him in constant pain – pain that no treatment could ease – was even worse. We knew it was time to let him go.

It was a sunny day at the end of February when he passed. I cried until I couldn’t anymore. I never imagined the depth of the grief I’d feel once he was gone. It has been difficult to find peace since that day, and there are still moments when I miss him more than I ever thought possible.

Recently, my sister came to visit me here in the UK. She brought me two things: a necklace with a paw pendant containing some of his ashes and his old collar. I keep the collar on my bedside table, close to all the beautiful arts and crafts Lavinia made for me. It still has his smell, and that scent triggered a rush of mixed emotions. The grief came flooding back, but there was also a strange sense of closure.

As hard as it was to let him go, I know we made the best decision possible. He’s home now, in a way, and somehow, that brings me comfort. His presence is still here – not physically, but in spirit – and I feel like he’s watching over us, happy and free from pain.

Goodbye, my sweet tornado. You were a fighter, a lover, and, above all, my best friend. I miss you every day, but I know you’re at peace now, and that’s all that matters.