We brought Red home when he was eight weeks old, and me seven months pregnant with our first child, with the hope that we were creating a life of instant best friends for both child and pup.
Red was my first pet as well as my first child. He was fun-loving and patient with our baby and the first to comfort me during a difficult journey with postpartum depression.
Every morning Red woke me up and sat in my lap while I drank my coffee. Every evening, he sat in my lap and licked all the crumbs off my face from dinner and snuggled up to go to sleep.
Red never did quite get the hang of fetch but he loved to be chased around with toys in his mouth (my toddler now also loves to be chased).
I remember having suspicions that when we went up to put the baby to bed every night, Red was grabbing food off the counter. One evening we faked going upstairs and hid behind the banister with a phone aimed at the kitchen. Hilariously, we caught him checking for us to leave and then jumping up with his front paws on the counter sniffing around for his snacks. We laughed and laughed about his sneakiness. That was typical of Red, always getting into things.
His life ended up being much shorter than planned but he filled our hearts with enough joy to last a lifetime. Now, my son is approaching two and shouts “puppy” any time he hears a dog bark and runs to Red’s stone in the backyard to give him a kiss in heaven.
I know Red is racing out his zoomies over the rainbow bridge and I can’t wait to be jumped on when I see him again.
