I've been trying to figure out how to write this since he passed, and honestly I still don't know if I can do it justice. But Spike deserves more than just a post that says "we lost our beloved pet." He was so much more than that to me. He was my person. My constant. The kind of dog you only get once, if you're lucky.

Spike was originally my ex-boyfriend's dog. He had already lived a full decade with him before he became mine — which is its own story worth telling. When I found out my ex had been making choices other than me, the first words out of my mouth weren't tears, weren't anger, weren't the kind of thing you'd expect. They were: "I'm taking the dog."

And I did. And I have never once regretted it.

Spike lived to somewhere between eighteen and twenty years old — an extraordinary age for a dog. He had a whole long life before me. But those last seven years? Those were ours. And in those seven years, he was there for absolutely everything.

"There are some animals that find you at exactly the right time and become something more like a soulmate. That was Spike for me."

He Was Just There

He was there through the heartbreaks — the kind that make you wonder if you'll ever trust anyone again. He was there when I lost my mom, which was the hardest thing I've ever been through in my life. He was there through all the stress and uncertainty of running my own business, the good stretches and the really scary ones.

Through all of it, Spike was just there. Calm. Steady. Right next to me.

He didn't fix any of it. He just stayed. And sometimes that's the only thing that matters.

But It Wasn't All Heavy

I want to make that clear. Spike was so fun and so cute. We used to play games of tag and chase around the house, and even when he got older he still had this little burst of energy that would just come out of nowhere. He'd take off running and look back at me with that look — like he was daring me to catch him. Even in his later years, that spark never really left him. It was one of my favorite things about him.

And then there were the cats.

In his final years, my cats developed a deep and completely inconvenient obsession with Spike. They wanted to rub on him and love on him constantly. Spike was not into it. At all. The look on his face every single time — long-suffering, deeply unimpressed, the dignity of a very old man being pestered by someone he did not ask to know — was one of the funniest things I have ever seen. He tolerated it. Barely. And I treasured every second of it.

Dogs Like Spike Don't Come Around Twice

I think what makes losing him so hard is knowing that. You hear people say that and you think, sure, everyone thinks their dog is special. But there are just some animals that find you at exactly the right time and become something more than a pet.

He showed up in my life right when I needed him most, and he stayed until the very end. He had a long, full life and I'm grateful for that. I'm grateful I got seven years with him, even if I wish it had been more. I'm grateful I had the nerve to say "I'm taking the dog" — because honestly, that little guy saved me more times than he'll ever know.

Rest easy, Spike. You were the best thing I didn't expect. I miss you every single day.