My old boy Rosco is gone. My heart feels heavy, like it’s trying to remember how to beat through the ache. I had to make one of the hardest choices I’ve ever made today - to take him to the vet and ease his suffering. His kidneys were failing, and the seizures kept coming, one after another. I couldn’t stand to see him in pain anymore.
I’ve been crying for days, feeling that something wasn’t right. Last night and this morning were the hardest. I watched him cry after his last seizure, and I knew - really knew - that it was time. As much as I wanted to hold on, I couldn’t let him hurt.
Before we left, I wrapped him up in a clean towel and one of his favorite blankies, the one with the Christmas dogs and trees on it. I put him in his daddy’s rocking chair - it’s a big, comfy one he’s always loved to curl up in when Edwin sat there. I cleaned him up as best I could; he’d soiled himself after the seizures, and I wanted him to be clean and comfortable for the trip.
Rosco has been part of our family for over ten years. We’ve saved his life so many times before, but this time, we couldn’t. The guilt still hits me - wondering if there was something more we could have done, some other sign I should have seen sooner. But deep down, I know we did all we could. We gave him love, warmth, safety, and a home full of people and animals who adored him.
The last three nights, he did something he never really did before. He walked around the house like he was doing a perimeter check - slow, deliberate, steady steps - like he was saying his goodbyes in his own quiet way. That was his way of preparing, I think.
When I came home from the vet, I put his towel and blanket back on his bed, along with his toys. The house felt so still. Usually, the other dogs would rush to that bed - they’d nudge each other out of the way to claim it. But not today. They each walked over, sniffed his spot, looked at his toys, then quietly walked away. Not one of them laid down there. They knew. They understood that it was Rosco’s bed - and that it still belonged to him.
It’s strange - my shipment of
Abnormally Wonderful came today. The very same day that my boy had to go. Maybe that’s not a coincidence. Maybe God was showing me that love and loss sometimes arrive hand in hand - that while one chapter closes, another begins.
Rosco was one of my best friends. To some, he was just a dog. But not to me.
He was my shadow, my comfort, my little fighter. He was only ten years old - still young at heart - and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18
I don’t know why God took him from us so soon, but I believe He wanted to give Rosco peace — real peace, without pain. My heart is still broken, but I know that love like his doesn’t fade. It just changes shape. And I believe, with all my heart, that one day I’ll see my boy again — healthy, happy, and free.
Thank you, Lord, for letting me be his mama.
Thank you for every single day we had together.
Until I see you again, Rosco —
You were, and always will be, abnormally wonderful.
