We said goodbye to Nero yesterday.
We knew the end was coming, but the blow hurts all the same.
He came into our lives, unexpectedly, during a very difficult autumn in 2015: house problems, work problems, health problems. Getting a puppy was objectively a bad idea. Yet, we went for it. And right from the start, he was the spark the household needed. Never shy to show his emotions, he was a happy pup, curious, and sweet. Very, very sweet.
For the next 10 years he lived the best life a dog could possibly dream. Freedom with a capital F. He roamed our fields and woods, ate three times per day, and had two houses to call his own: he was our dog but, when my father-in-law retired, he became his dog too. They would go to the forest or even to the cottage for several days, keeping each other company. Nero was thrilled: fresh air, action, and elk meat. He rode in the car, the boat and even the tractor. They were the ultimate perfect buddies. Suffice to say, I know a man who also hurting today.
When they were not together, Nero preferred to be outdoors, on his own. He did not wait for anybody to entertain him, he created his own games: he would play alone, using his own nose to throw sticks in the air and fetching them to himself. When by the sea, he would swim in circles chasing his own splashes. After that, he would lie down and chill. For hours. Contemplating life. To say he was low maintenance would be the understatement of the century. The only exception was the sofa: if you were under the same roof on a sofa, he would come to you and you’d give him hugs and cuddles until he’d fall asleep, probably laying on you. He was so easy going that my only regret is probably not having spent more time with him. Kind, independent, I wonder if I sometimes took him for granted.
He came into our lives unexpectedly, yes, and then he saw all the ups and downs of our 30s: Faro’s golden years, Leah’s arrival, then Ricky’s… he had a front row seat to all of that ―and to more, so much more― but was never offered the leading role in our lives. It feels like there was always something else happening. Despite that, he never acted neglected, demanded attention, or caused trouble. He kept a low profile, carried a certain innocent demeanour ―I have never had that feeling with another dog― and embraced his spot. Of course, he did love to be with us and he was always ready to play, but he could also make you forget he was around. He would not interrupt you. He never cried or bark for us to open a door or feed him. I really hope he knew how much joy his mere presence brought me. To think that such an amazing dog was never the protagonist, but always a star. And he never stopped shining.
The diagnostic hit us last January. Tears were shed. We had no idea if he would survive another four weeks, maybe eight. In true Nero fashion, he managed nine months. And as he did with Lupus, his hernia, and other complications throughout his life, he kept his high spirits during this final journey. He lived his life fully ―playful, active, happy― until the last 2 weeks: he lost weight, he struggled to eat. He increasingly avoided his brother. He had a few slow days and a couple bad nights. During those times, his look was not of spark and warmth, but tiredness, unease. He looked vulnerable, and there was nothing we could do about it.
We knew he deserved a farewell with dignity. One day too early rather than one day too late. The sickness was eating his strength away; it was time set him free. Free again, one last time. We were by his side, in our living room, while he gently fell asleep. Comforting him during this final leap into the water.
We knew the end was coming, but the blow hurts all the same.
Be Free, Nero. Happy, curious, and sweet, sweet Nero.
