Goodbye, Lupin

Dog owners hear it all the time:

They give us their whole life, and we spend the rest of ours remembering them.

Today was a hard day for Team Cooper.

We said goodbye to Lupin, our loyal companion, our shadow, our bestest boy.

For fifteen years, Lupin was woven into the fabric of our lives. He grew up alongside our boys, from the chaos of childhood, through the whirlwind of teenage years, and into the steady steps of young adulthood. Through every season, he was there. Waiting.

Even at the end, he waited.

He waited to tell us it was time.

He held on until the house was full, until every one of us was home: no one at work, no one off at school, no one stuck in a hospital room. Only then did he let us see it, the quiet signal in his eyes and body that said, “I’m tired now.”

He didn’t want to inconvenience us. That was just who he was, gentle, patient, and always thinking of us before himself.

He loved his treats. Yours too, if you weren’t quick.

He’d stretch out in the sun, eyes half-closed, listening to the birds chatter, until Tonks came barreling through to chase them off. That was their rhythm. Their dance.

Today, we surrounded him with the same love he gave us every day. He didn’t go alone. We were all there. Every one of us. We said our goodbyes, his presence lingers, soft and constant, in the quiet corners of this house, in the warm patches of light he used to claim as his own.

We are heartbroken and we will be for a while.

This grief is sharp. But so is the love behind it.

I loved that damn dog and I always will.