The light has gone out of my life.” Theodore Roosevelt wrote these words in his diary on February 14, 1884; the day his wife and mother died within hours of each other. This simple sentence of grief and loss immediately came to mind the moment I felt you take your last breath.

Today would’ve been your 17th birthday.

Or at least I think that was the date. I could’ve asked my cousins, they would know best. After all they were the ones who found you all, little white and black balls of perfect fluff. You and your siblings.

I think in my 21-year-old mind, I did some math from the day I collected you and came up with the 25th. November 25th, 2007.

It was January when they told me I could pick you up. I had just come home from a trip, and hadn’t mentioned to my mother that I planned to bring you home. But I knew from the moment we realized that your mom was pregnant, that I wanted you. I had your name all picked out: Linus, the sweet, thoughtful, and wise friend of Charlie Brown. So, I went to pick you up, my little white puppy with the crooked ear and lumpy belly (I later learned the “lump” was a hernia and the vet removed it when we neutered you).

I just picked you up and promptly went to Target to buy you a little sweater and your own bowls. Those bowls were the cutest, by the way. They looked like Chinese food take out containers. Somehow you managed to break them maybe a couple of weeks later. You got metal ones after that. Years later I would find the little green sweater I brought you home in, and the only thing that fit in it was your head.

You had a knack for destruction in your youth. Whenever anyone asked me about you, I told them that you were a perfect baby angel who had never done anything wrong in his entire life– and then proceeded to tell them that you did like to eat one shoe out of each pair, leaving me uneven. Thankfully at the time, most of my shoes were from Payless, so it didn’t hurt me as much. And that you once chewed through my laptop cord— while it was plugged in. Or I’d tell them about the time that I had bought you a beautiful brown, leather, collar, with a gold tag and I discovered it in pieces around you when I got home from school. You chewed it off your body and ate most of it. I never bought you a leather collar again after that.

I wish I could do a clip show of your greatest hits. Like remember that time I took you to the beach and you jumped out the window while I was parking, because you wanted to go see the other dogs? Or remember that time you accidentally flew out of the window of Selena’s smart car, because I took a turn too sharply? It was a miracle you forgave me after that one. Oh! Or how about the time a neighbor’s pitbull bit you on the nose and I was so freaked out, I called the vet and he asked me, “how is he doing?” and I answered, “well, he’s chewing up one of my chanclas now.” And he said, “he’s fine.”

Seventeen. That’s crazy, right? When you turned 10, I was concerned. Wow, a whole decade? With such a large dog? So I did what any rational person would do, I threw you a birthday party. Naturally ten needed to be celebrated. I even baked you a paw shaped cake that we shared with all your human friends.

Then you turned, 11, 12, 13, 14? I was so excited you were able to be in my wedding. The way your best friend and I planned it. My most handsome and fluffy ring bearer. And you showed no real signs of slowing down. Sure, you needed help getting into the Jeep, your leaping days were behind you. But you still loved walking, and camping, and going to the beach. My God. You were the most glorious creature in the water. Baywatch had nothing on Linus running on the beach.

You turned 15 and you even got to be in a quinceañera with your best friend Amy and were the star of the show. How cute were you dressed up in a tux, again? My most perfect, and photogenic boy. I knew you were starting to get tired, so naturally I bought you the largest doggy stroller on the market, and you immediately hated it. But I forced you to get used to it, or you were never going to be able to go anywhere. And you did get used to it. You’d sit and happily watch the world go by. Enjoying the ease of seeing the world without your back leggies giving out on you.

Year 16 came and I was optimistic. I knew that we were honestly on borrowed time. The vet told me you had kidney disease, but you were stable and of course I bought you the most expensive prescription food, and the most expensive medicine because I didn’t care. You of course, were not really pleased with the change of menu. If it was going to help you, it didn’t matter to me. But I decided that we needed to celebrate you, the best dog ever. So we had another birthday party, because the world needed to commemorate that you graced us with your presence for 16 whole years.

This year you gave me some scares, but you always seemed to recover, it gave me this false sense of security. Surely, Linus would live forever. Linus, like Chopin was eternal. But I slowly realized, that I had lied to myself. You, like all of us, were mortal, and your time, unfortunately, was coming to an end.

I am at peace, knowing that I gave you a gentle end, surrounded by the people who loved you the most in the whole world. You went to sleep in the arms of your Mami and Papi and left this world with a little less beauty and sweetness. And that day you were running again with all your puppy friends who had gone before.

Your spot by the bed looks so empty. Every space in this house feels empty without you in it. I keep listening for the click clack of your claws, or the stomp of your little paws in your grippy socks and think for a moment that I hear it, but it’s just my mind playing tricks on me.

I know that with time, your passing will hurt a little less. And I know that with every funny story or anecdote I share with the world my heart will slowly start to stitch itself back together.

For now I’m grateful for the time you were mine and I was yours.