I’ve known him and his brother since they were adopted at three weeks old. I hung out with them a bunch, helped give them their first (and thus far last…)bath. Eventually, his owner found a boyfriend with unfriendly dogs and moved back to the Bay Area. I adopted him and silently promised that I’d never abandon him. We’ve been a solid team since.

I do my best to give him as much freedom as possible, I don’t want him to be a prisoner of my affection, so he can come and go as he pleases. This does have some risks, but he clearly craves the outdoors, so I’ve always figured if the worst happens, he’ll at least have lived a fulfilled life, as opposed to one long, maddening, imprisoned one.

When he disappeared for a week, it suddenly occurred to me that though I had accepted a long life might not be guaranteed I hadn’t considered that if he was hurt or worse outside, I might never be able to say goodbye. This was rough. During that period I couldn’t stop thinking about how a) he might be trapped and in pain somewhere, thinking that I’d abandoned him and b) if he was gone, I hadn’t been able to say goodbye.

If he had never come back, I’m prettier sure this would have continued to haunt me for years. Thankfully, he did come back and every time I see him it’s like the ghost of Christmas past took me back in time to be able to spend just one more day with him. I mean, not literally, but that’s the gratefulness I feel each time I see him. The risk that he does get lost or kidnapped still exists, and if any of those things were to happen, I’d be wrecked, but I’m not going to take his freedom.