On February seventeenth, two thousand sixteen I drove my best friend to the veterinary clinic. On the way there we stopped at a few of his favorite places and I watched as he chowed down on a sausage egg and cheese. I felt a tear slide down my cheek as I looked at my old boy and I wanted more than anything to turn the car around and head back home, but I knew that this was inevitable and my family and I had prolonged his suffering long enough.

As the vet explained to us the process I couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over the brims of my sooted lashes as I tried to choke them back. I didn’t want him to see me like this. I wanted my Lucas to know what a good boy he was and how much I loved him. I kept reminding myself that he would never again cry out in pain as his muscles withered away and his bones rubbed together every time he attempted to move. He will never have to wait for me to pick all one hundred and twenty pounds of him up off the floor just so that he can go use the bathroom. He wouldn’t collapse on the floor over and over sending large thudding sounds throughout the house.

This was my final gift to my best friend. The dog who licked tears from my cheeks in my moments of heart break. The dog who let my niece pull his tail and laid on the floor with her as she watched Peppa Pig. This was the friend I drove to the beach with at twelve thirty in the morning just to lay on the sand listening the waves crashing a couple feet from where we watched the stars. This is the dog who always lent an unbiased ear to my unrelenting issues and short comings.

I laid on the cold floor beside my best friend and as I felt his last breath leave him I pressed my lips against his still warm head and whispered softly that, “it was just another drive to the beach”, except this time he would have to wait for me. Walking out of the vets office with his collar in my hand, a small snowflake gently landed on my tear stained cheek. This of course sending a new batch of tears tumbling down as I took this little snowflake as an omen of his last kiss to me.

After Lucas’s passing my family vowed to never have another dog. We couldn’t bare the thought of ever having to endure this pain again.

A month later my little sister walked through the door with a Pitbull puppy, named Tyson. At first my parents were furious toward her for going against their wishes and they told her that she needed to find the puppy a new home. My sister was heartbroken and she couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t allow her to keep him. Although I wouldn’t have admitted it then, I agreed with my sister. Our home had become a place that I did not recognize. It had become empty since Lucas’s passing but from the moment Tyson had come bounding into our home it had softened that part of my heart which had hardened after the loss of Lucas. Our parent’s had given my sister a deadline to find the pup a home and I vowed that within that time I would change their minds.

Eight months later all eighty pounds of Tyson is perched on my mother’s lap while she takes a bite out of her English muffin, all the while placing kisses on her face attempting to get any remanence of what she was eating. Yeah, you heard that right Tyson is sitting on my mother’s lap! He is snuggled up in bed with my father some evenings, and yes they are both beneath the covers snoring away. Tyson is running around the house with my niece and together they are causing all kinds of mischief. Every weekend he hops into my passenger’s side seat and we ride into town for our early morning coffee routine. Now don’t get me wrong somedays when he chews my new flip-flops in half I think to myself who in their right mind thought to keep him, but I know deep down I wouldn’t trade him for anything. He will never be Lucas, but he has always been a part of this family. He isn’t our pet, he is our brother. He will live a long and happy life if the Gods are willing.

Never in million years did I think that I would be the owner of a “vicious” Pitbull. By vicious I hope you know I mean that he will kiss you to death. This Pitbull is afraid of the scarecrow we have outside in our garden. He loves ice cream and naps, lots and lots of naps. He quite literally thinks that he is the size of our shih-tzu and will climb into your lap like a very large over grown baby. He loves being picked up and carried in your arms from one napping spot to the next.

Tyson gave our family something to look forward too again. We gave him a home and he gave us his love and devotion. With my newsfeed filling up with the disaster in Montreal, I find myself in tears thinking what I would do if someone had taken Tyson from us just because of the unrealistic belief that he is “harmful” to society when the only thing that should fear him is the common house fly.

My heart goes out to Montreal and the animals who are now suffering a fate that could have been avoided. I will hug my pup a little tighter and rub his ears just the way he likes it, every night to come. I am so incredibly lucky to have him in my life. Where his voice cannot be heard, I will always be his advocate.

Sincerely,

The Advocate.

Hey Montreal! When Tyson is an old man and he is to join my Lucas I want you to know that I will continue to have a Pitbull for the rest of my life because if anyone knows loyalty and kindness it is them.