Project: Saying “see you later” to my buddy.

Mission: Try to capture everything he gifted me every day.

Hats worn: Dog dad.

What was Ryan thinking? They say dogs are “man’s best friend.” I wasn’t so sure about that until I met my friend Mr. Giannis.

For Mr. Giannis:

When we met, I wasn’t so sure about meeting you. I wasn’t a dog person; I’m a person person. I don’t fancy rolling on the floor with your kind, making funny voices or faces at you – nor do I necessarily want you next to me while I’m having a cocktail.

But I understood why we needed to meet each other and share space together. There was energy in the house that needed to be expended on another being, buoyed by a need to nurture. I suppose your story of survival was endearing enough, your name and face charming enough to boot. Since I’m not really a dog person, I certainly wasn’t sure about your hair and scent everywhere. And God help you if you shit in the house.

Like your athletic namesake, you barreled down the lane – wide-eyed with your tail thunderously thumping the ground – from the rescue and into the truck. Then you went straight for a rug and shat on it, not even inside a minute of you being inside the door. I wasn’t particularly happy about that, and you weren’t off a good start with me. You were already starting to wear on me.

You wore on me every day. I probably spent a little too much time wanting you to be a creature you’re not. But eventually, I learned to celebrate you for being a creature unlike any other. Your silly faces in the backyard merited the silly voices and faces I swore I’d never utter or contort my face to make. Your headbutts for pets and ceaseless belly rub requests made me chuckle and acquiesce accordingly.

Your ceaseless food begging next to my knee annoyed the holy hell out of me. Trading treats for tricks and handing out handshakes made me proud. Jumping onto my waist to hug me when I’m down comforted me. Scrambling madly with your Baby Dino in your mouth – like the nutcase you are – whenever the back door opens or it’s time for a walk made for a simultaneously eye-rolling and joyous occasion. You went from the dog to my buddy to Mr. Giannis: my coworker, companion and champion.

Your wearing on me turned into winning me over from loving on me. Probably too much. And sometimes, Mr. Giannis, you are too much. Too touchy, too jumpy, too unpredictable, too aggressive, too much to deal with. But man, if I knew how to deal with you so you didn’t have to leave me, I’d make that deal in a heartbeat. And that’s after a few soiled surfaces, mending bites that broke skin and hearts, all while trying to train out the “too much” that made you too much of a (literal) liability. I hate that last part too much.

You see, Mr. Giannis, I’m not a dog person. But I am your person. I’m a person person, with flaws and foibles along with my sins and shortcomings. So, for all the moving of heaven and earth to deal with you, I’ll make a deal with you. You’re free to leave this earth behind, but not Baby Dino. You must take him to keep you company, and because I can’t stand seeing Baby Dino here without you. You’re not going to be confined to a neighborhood. You can roam and bark freely at whatever dog or mailman is up there to your heart’s contentment.

You don’t have to deal with taking any more pills or wearing your electronic collar to make your “too much” a little less. You won’t have to deal with being in your kennel so much, even if you like it in there. You’re free to be the person dog you really are, ready to jump on everyone, love and be loved as intensely as you’d want. And you’ll never have to deal with the serving suggestion on treats and bones. I don’t believe there’s any limit amongst the gods, spirits, angels and ancestors. Now I don’t like dealing with you being gone, but I love you enough to make that deal.

Just promise me this: Until I move from earth to heaven, if the time is right, you’ll send a friend. When I’m at the gates, be there waiting with your tail thunderously thumping when they let me in. Deal? Paw to hand, buddy, until we meet again.

Godspeed and good night, Mr. Giannis.

Your person,

Ryan