“The mass is cancer. Ringo has one or two months left.”

At first I stared at the text message, still trying to focus on the conversation that had suddenly started sounding like faint background noise. Then, my mind grasped the meaning of the message and I felt my eyes water. Wait, what? I’m in the middle of a client meeting, why am getting choked up over a dog? He is not just a dog, that’s why. He is a family member, a friend, and my little buddy.

Ringo has been a member of our family since I was in high school. Right off the bat he and I were friends. We did not do the stereotypical dog and young boy things that you see in movies. No, he would lay under my feet while I was reading or on the computer. He would follow me around the house, sometimes coming close to knocking me over when I did not realize he was behind me. But most often, we played a game of chase. Ringo loves showing off and a chase is the best way to get him to strut his stuff. At the same time, Ringo is an ornery guy. A sprinter. He loves to wait for the front door to open just to take off and explore the neighborhood.

Sure, to most people, dogs are dogs. But Ringo, and other family pets for that matter, represent something else. Ringo is a confidant, a silent friend. As I type this, all of the memories I have had with my friend are overwhelming my thoughts. My one hope, to be home and with him when it is time for his final rest.