A reflection on thirteen years of love, growing older, and saying goodbye.
On a sunny spring day in May, we lost Candy.
After spending the day lying in the yard with her, we said goodbye in her favorite spot in our home.
At the tender old age of thirteen, she simply ran out of time.
When Candy came into our lives, Benjamin was seven and Wolfe was five—fresh-faced boys burning with all the excitement and longing that comes with wanting a four-legged friend.
She arrived with Dalmatian spots, warm eyes, and the sweetest heart.
She had been a part of my boys' lives longer than she hadn't.
She endured childhood dress-up sessions, forts where she was lovingly held hostage, endless games, and countless adventures—always with good cheer and unwavering patience.
She watched my boys grow from little children into young men. And in many ways, they watched her grow up, too.
What was once a hearty, spirited hound grew silvery, worn, and eventually crippled by age. Yet somehow, she remained just as spirited as the day we met her.
As I lay beside her on our last day together, I found myself thinking about how time eventually steals everything.
But then I studied her fur—tiny specks of gray, wiry and old—and realized that time gives gifts, too.
Those gray hairs were evidence of a life filled with love, adventure, loyalty, and joy. Every silver strand told a story.
I feel profoundly grateful that we invited Candy into our home and our hearts.
She was a gift.
As her body weathered and paralysis slowly took hold, all I wanted was for her to have dignity and grace in her final months with us.
I wanted to give back a fraction of the love, comfort, and devotion she had given so freely throughout her life.
She was better than any friend I could have ever asked for.
Goodbye, sweet Candy.
Thank you for growing up with our family, for loving our boys, and for filling our home with your gentle spirit.
Thirteen years will never have been enough, but what a beautiful gift those years were.
You were deeply loved, and you always will be.
