Gronk Gronk. Day 517.

Because he was a mixed-breed, I thought we would have more time with him.

Over eleven years earlier, Hurricane Irene threatened to hit us pretty hard. It was August 2011. I was with the fire department at the time, waiting for a call about a downed tree or a hole in someone’s roof. The storm began to calm so I took a nap.

I woke up to a text from my fire chief’s daughter. She had a shepherd who needed a home. He was ten months old and a little too rambunctious for her young family.

I didn’t even tell the kids, but drove over to the fire department about five minutes away “just to look” at the dog. I walked into the building and was instantly jumped on by a pretty big puppy. His soft, thick coat was cream color and his tail curled up, always wagging. He looked just like a white German Shepherd but had floppy ears which would perk only once in awhile. He jumped and jumped and would not stop. I took him home.

He fit in with my other three, Gisele, Zoeeee, and Yankee, and we all fell in love with him right away. He loved tennis balls, and could walk around with two in his mouth at once. The other dogs were jealous. (Recently, Wanda would stare at him while he did it, and she learned to carry two for a short distance, just like her big brother.)

He could clear our inground pool and howled like a hound. One time, he sat on the top of our six-foot wooden privacy fence and stared down at the neighbors’ Dachshunds who had been tormenting him for weeks. The perfect Romeo, Gronk always had a way with the ladies.

We lost Gronk on Friday. He collapsed while Baylee was home alone with him. We all rushed from different cities to the vet to be with him. There was fluid surrounding his heart and the vet assumed it was from a mass that ruptured. It was sudden. It was fast. Draining the fluid came with too many risks, and any type of life afterward would consist of a lifestyle he would not want. We decided to let him go, a decision we made for him, not us.

Losing a pet just sucks. When I reach in the treat bowl, I still grab four instead of three. I say his name when I’m meaning to talk about David. And the others are uneasy, missing their friend. Gronk’s best friend, however, is suffering the most.

Sammy and Gronk were each other’s. He slept in Sammy’s room, waited for him to come home around six each night, and whined to go back into his room on weekends after his breakfast.

“I can’t sleep in my bed tonight,” Sammy said. He and David crashed on the couch.

I would love to write in detail about my boy, and tell you about hindsight, his love of tuna, and how much I’ll miss him, but quite frankly, I’m tired of crying. So, I will choose this post to revise in the future. Maybe.

For now, thank you for the well wishes and kind words. We will miss him forever.