Gilligan
2009–2026
I was never a dog person.
He didn't care. He showed up in my life and stayed for thirteen years- through every move, every loss, every version of me that came and went. Not in the way people romanticize loyalty. He wasn't performing devotion. He was just there. Steadfast in a way that didn't ask for anything back. Always snoring from his closet office. Always underfoot in the hallway in the dark.
He made an impression everywhere he went. His unique stature alone turned heads in public- people remembered him. He mattered to people who aren't in my life anymore. He was a thread that connected a lot of chapters that don't otherwise touch.
He was good in the way the word actually means something. Patient with every animal roommate he ever had- the chicken that pecked him, the kitten that used his back as a launchpad between rooms. He never snapped. He maintained a respectful distance and expected the same from others. If you gave him that, he gave you everything quiet and steady in return.
He lived well past anyone's expectations.
In the end, decline doesn't always move in a straight line. There are bad days that give way to surprisingly good ones, and good ones that collapse without warning. It's loose and questionable and there is no clean moment where you know. You just reach a point where you trust yourself enough to stop second-guessing and let him rest.
The dog I used to get sandy at the beach, the one I threw the ball for in open fields- he was long gone before the decision came. What was left was a boy who deserved to stop being uncomfortable. I did my best for him. It wasn't always perfect or stable, but it was my best, and that's all you can do.
Now there's no one to trip over in the hallway. No hard chews to stub my toe on. No ambient snoring from the closet as I fall asleep. My husband and I can't do the dog voice anymore. We can't make the puns. The house is quieter than it should be.
He was a very good boy.
If you're facing this decision, there's a tool below that helped me when the days stopped making sense. It won't tell you what to do. But it might help you see what you already know.