Today we said goodbye.
Last week we didn't even know there was a problem. On Saturday, the vet said it was likely cherry eye. Yesterday morning, the vet said it was probably not cherry eye, but maybe glaucoma or an abcess behind the eye, and booked you in with a specialist. Yesterday afternoon the specialist said it was almost certainly an aggressive tumour. He said it was a matter of days. By yesterday evening, we figured we'd be lucky to have the weekend. By last night, we knew we'd only have today. You were ready to go, even if we weren't ready for you to leave.
I was working at Adelaide Oval, just before Christmas 2006, when Tegan called to tell me she'd found the puppy I'd promised her for her 21st birthday. We used to joke that you were so perfect it took that long for you to get ready.
You were the runt of the litter, of course. The vet said you'd get to four, maybe five kilograms. You stopped at ten.
People warned us that if we ever let you sleep in the bed, we'd be stuck with that forever. I wouldn't change that choice for anything.
You were there when we moved out and got our first house together as a family. You were groomsdog at our wedding. You were the glue that held this family together.
You were always good with small children, even if they weren't always good with you. Austin idolised you. I believe that the reason he still crawls sometimes is to be at your height. He's too young to have concrete memories of you, but you still helped to shape him so much. Because of you, he loves animals (particularly puppies). Because of you, he knows how to be a loving and patient big brother when the new baby arrives. They might not remember you, but you will be a part of them, every day of their lives.
You loved us unconditionally, and every day we tried to be deserving of that. We will miss you.
Montie Jones Redmond, 24 October 2006 - 1 September 2017.