In the end, it had been the siren song of old habits that meant I’d never preen his fawn fur or comfort him during wild doggy dreams again. I didn’t think I’d forgive myself or survive losing him, didn’t think I’d ever stop thinking that it should have been me. But with every breath and head bob and beat of my little black heart, I was reminded of how fiercely Dennis loved and was loved, and I tried to live up to that as best I could, vowing to live a life big enough for both of us.
