June 28, 2025

Dear Sydney in heaven. It’s Daddy here. I hope your first day beyond the rainbow bridge was okay and that you are comfortable and settling in nicely. We know that you were met by Opa and you are rekindling your bond since he predeceased you two years ago. Please tell him we are still thinking of him often, although I believe he knows.

I hope you don’t miss us too too much. Honestly, I can’t say the same thing for me, Mom and Ailsa. We miss you a ton, even though we understand that you had to leave us. Nineteen years is an awfully long time for a doggie here on earth and you were ready to go. We know this in our hearts.

It must have been hard for you in recent months to have lost your ability to see and hear, and to feel that something was wrong inside. I’ve never had kidney failure so I can only imagine how awful it is. I would say the dementia was hard for you too although the weird thing about dementia is that it’s hardest on those that love you. Seeing you look confused and unaware and walk into walls was sad and we hated it.

It’s been several years since you could run like the wind for hours and you probably miss that, as much as we miss seeing you do it. Your walking in the last few months was slow and lethargic, especially since your seizure last March. You recovered from that in nearly miraculous style. Then you just got old, more so than before. You barely sniffed any more, certainly not with the usual familiar gusto.

We didn’t want you to suffer so we made the best arrangements possible to say farewell. The lady veterinarian from Peaceful Passing Home Pet Euthanasia Service was so nice. She made it as easy as possible for us. Did you hear me ask her if she’s ever seen a giant grown man cry? You know me; I couldn’t hold back the tears. I didn’t much try. You already looked so close to passing away before the process began. You barely acknowledged when the vet came into the room and hardly sniffed her as she held her hand close to your nose. I don’t want to dwell on the rest of the half hour. It went quickly and so did you. You laid in Ailsa’s lap the whole time, the way she wanted it. It reminded us of all the cuddles you two shared when you first came home to us and we called you sisters.

Since yesterday morning, I’ve forgotten what I was doing a few times as I was thinking about you rather than focusing on the task at hand. Today, I was supposed to get gas for the car while I was out grocery shopping for this week’s trucking trip. I reminded myself twice and quickly forgot twice as my thoughts turned to you. It’s not like me to be this forgetful but I’m sure you understand.

I also hope you understand that I cleaned the living room hours after you left. Of course, I was anxious to vacuum all the tidbits of your treats that you somehow pushed under the couch and left scattered on the floor. It’s nothing personal but you know how I am about cleaning. You also know how little time I have each weekend at home and how much I rush around trying to squeeze in all my chores.

Admittedly the house will be cleaner and less cluttered now that you’re gone: the food and water bowls are off the dining room floor and your blankets have already been washed and dried. But somehow it was better when everything was not quite so spick and span, because you were the reason why.

Before I forget, I want to apologize for the times when I was impatient with you when you had to go pee in the middle of the night. I know you couldn’t help it and wouldn’t have wanted to bother us unless it was really necessary. Mommy and I really need our sleep and that’s why we were cranky when we were awoken. I hope you understand that it was nothing personal. For my whole life, I’ve gotten upset at anyone or anything that cost me sleep.

I want you to know that you taught me so much about boundless joy and unconditional love. I whispered something to that effect in your ears several times in the last few weeks. It wasn’t important that you heard it, but it was important for me to say it. At the end I simply said thank you as I laid the basket with you inside in the front seat of the vet’s car. That’s the last time I would ever see you, even though you weren’t you any more. You were heaven-bound.

In return for all you gave, maybe I gave you a few things. I hope I did. I think one of them was protection. I only had to offer it on a few occasions and only one sticks now. Do you remember it? You were weeks old when we were returning from a walk. A big dog spotted you from across the street, broke free from its owner and darted towards you. I did what I could to wedge myself between the two of you as I yanked your leash to keep you out of harm’s way. It wasn’t long before the owner, an older neighbour of ours from down the street, got control of his dog. I yelled at him loudly afterward and threatened that if anything like this every happened again, I would make sure that he would lose his dog. I was so mad. You were none worse for the excitement. From then on, that owner made sure to have complete control of his dog. He crossed the street immediately whenever he saw us coming. Looking back, I confess that I may have lost control of my emotions but I did it for you. I would have done exactly the same again. I regret nothing.

I do, however, regret that I had to spend so much time away from you in the last eight years. I was working, driving a giant truck in the US south, doing what I needed to do for us. I know time didn’t mean the same to you as it does to us, but it’s often been hard for me. Seeing your face as I come back through the door was always reassuring. It meant that you were welcoming me back, as you always would, without fail.

* * * * * * * * * *

As I look back to when you arrived on the scene, in July 2006, I recall certain things. First thing, I learned that Kim, a lifelong dog lover and former co-owner (with her family) of three dogs, had talked with five-year-old Ailsa. Together, they decided they wanted a doggie. I was informed and barely had time to process the possibility of adding a new family member when the next thing you know, they returned from the mall with news. They had visited the pet store and found the puppy they wanted.

As the story goes, this tiny white mop of a pup – a Maltese poodle, roughly ten weeks old, picked on by the rest of her litter – was released from her cage and presented to Mommy and daughter. She (you) immediately settled into Ailsa’s arms and they knew right away that they would have a hard time giving you back. When they visited again, you immediately bolted out of the store and ran to the store across the way and back. You did this several times, obviously thrilled to be free and allowed to move. This was the first sign of your Olympic-level running talent.

The double whammy of your energy and extreme cuteness in full motion was too much for Kim and Ailsa to ignore and they decided that you needed to come home and be one of us.

I of course had some say into whether or not this was going to happen. I honestly wasn’t as opposed as I thought I might be. I asked some questions and they were answered in turn. Yes, you were non-shedding and hypo-allergenic. Yes, were small and wouldn’t cost all that much to feed. No, you weren’t a crazy, super-high energy dog. (Wrong, as it turns out.) And yes, we, as a family, would all be in on the walking and caretaking. We were an active family who went to the park a lot so this was a good fit.

You were immediately named after the flower Sydney Amaryllis, because Ailsa liked the name and she got to choose.

So began the Sydney years, and the forming of lifelong memories with you.

We’ll always remember your endless ball chases that dominated your early years. You were as athletic as they came, constantly surprising onlookers at the park with your blazing speed and stamina. Even in the extreme summer heat, you ran with wondrous enthusiasm, pausing only to catch your breath and cool your belly in a patch of dirt, or shallow water if and when it was available.

You loved your homes away from home: Nanny and Pop’s house, Oma and Opa’s place and their cottage. You knew that no matter where you went, there would be family there that loved you and would always stop what they were doing to spend time with you. You fit in so well at family events, always playing the role of sweet lovable Sydney.

Early on, it was clear that you preferred the company of humans over dogs. When you went to doggy daycare, we heard that you disregarded the other pups and looked for a cuddle with one of the staff members. Of course they couldn’t resist your charm. Few, if anyone, could. This was true until your very last breath.

As the years went on and you got slower, and your walks became shorter, your zest for life was still apparent. You still enjoyed your treats, your sniffs and visits with your favourite humans. We still got the occasional zoomie from you. And you were always visibly happy each time anyone of us came home. These things were reassuring to us, as they reminded us that you weren’t done yet here on earth. It was as if you understood that you had it good here and weren’t ready to go. Not just yet.

So, we celebrate your long and wonderful life, through stories and photos, as we tear up because we miss you. We will keep looking at your spot at the end of the couch and wonder why you’re not there, looking back at us, trustingly, so eternally innocent.

Rest easy, sweet Sydney. We will never forget you.