Dear Mr. Frodo,

On Tuesday November 10th, I saw you for the last time, curled in your usual spiral in the left corner of the living room. Part of me just wanted to quickly glance over, and give you a little pat on the head, or a scratch on the ear and continue on with my daily routine, knowing that you would still be there when I got home, probably in the same position. But the vet was coming that afternoon, to send you on your way, and I knew this would be the last moment to see your handsome face.

I felt like Samwise Gamgee, wanting to throw you on my back and carry you the rest of the way, even though you could no longer walk 3 steps without going full Bambi.

“Come on Mr. Frodo, dear. Sam will give you a ride, just tell him where to go and he’ll go”.

Then I remember, we aren’t in Mordor, and the fate of Middle-earth does not rest on our shoulders.

Although, it kind of felt like it.

This was your time to leave, I knew that. You were tired. Your once reddish gold face had transitioned to greyish white. I stroked your head, and you grumbled a little. I would like to think you were saying goodbye.

“Goodbye Mr. Frodo.”

You see, you were more than a Ridge-less Rhodesian Ridgeback. You were a constant presence. Always there in the corner, tirelessly loyal, and constantly stubborn. 

I forgive you for eating my Barbie’s, my Polly Pockets and my Bratz, and just one of my new spotty shoes from Zara. I forgive you for eating my new watermelon Lipsmacker and Santa’s Dundee cake.

The corner in the living room where your bed used to be looks rather empty these last couple days. I almost expect to wake up, and see your little brown feet hanging over the edge of your cradle, and your soft wheezing snores breaking the silence ever so slightly.

Farewell old man. The 13 years we spent together will never be forgotten.

Mad Love.