I’ve dreaded and prepared for this for the last seven years, but it’s so much worse than I ever imagined. Wednesday night I lost my best friend, my shadow, my adventure buddy, my bunkmate, my everything. He was my whole world and I don’t know how I go on without him. It’s too soon. We still had so many days with so many things to do.

If anyone knew Artie, you knew when he wasn’t busy chasing squirrels, or birds, or chickens, or deer, or coyotes, or elk, or big horn sheep in circles on top of a mountain, he was a goofy, smart but stupid, sensitive soul who just wanted to please.

He never met a stick he didn’t love; and the bigger it was, the more he loved it. I can’t count how many times he came upon a fallen tree somewhere in the woods and tried to get his mouth around it to pick it up and run with it. He would try and try and only when he noticed that I’d kept walking would he give up and come running back to resume the walk. He also never met a body of water he didn’t love swimming in (though that first mouth full of ocean water was a rude awakening) and when he could combine that with his love of sticks he’d be set for the day. So many summer days were spent swimming out into a lake or river to retrieve two or three sticks at a time, over and over and over.

If I had a nickel for every time a random stranger complimented him on our walks I’d be the richest man in the world. Everywhere we’d been together, he’d walk through the city off leash, staying by my side, sitting at every street crossing until I said it was safe to cross, and never losing his composure while another dog walking by was barking at him; all of which earned him praise and pets from people he’d never met. If ever a dog was a Rockstar it was Artie. Last month at a street festival we joined thousands of people walking a strip downtown to take in the street performers, bands, dancers and vendors, but throughout the day, people treated Artie as the attraction. Kids, parents, grandparents – stopped him all day long to pet him, talk to him, and offer him treats. If he had the ability I feel like they would’ve asked for an autograph. Just last weekend, we walked around downtown on a casual day and he got the same treatment. It must’ve been exhausting being so admired, but he loved the attention.

He did it all, he climbed mountains, he swam the ocean, he flew across country, saw grizzly’s, kissed wild salmon, leapt out of moving vehicles… twice, and we did it all together.

The void he’s left is enormous and unfillable. I’ll miss how he was afraid of the wind when it would blow the curtains. I’ll miss the look he’d give me when he was ready for bed and wanted me to let him under the blankets. I’ll miss the way he’d give me hell when I started teasing him about his toes. I’ll miss his panic-bark when I’d hide my face behind a blanket during peek-a-boo. I’ll miss how he’d get out of bed and watch me leave for work every day because he knew my guilt for leaving him meant treats before I left. The squeak of his favourite lambchop toy, the kisses, the car rides, his unique way of pooping, the excessive drool that somehow would end up on top of his head, the new fascination with wild rabbits, the way he’d sleep on his back with his paws up in the air, the bum scratches, the attempts to squeeze into the smallest of spaces to lay down when there was someone else next to me. I’ll miss it all. All the time