Romeo was a little fireplug of a dog. He was a scruffy Lhasa Apso who looked like an Ewok from Star Wars when his fur was growing out.

He failed puppy socialization class, and his distaste for other dogs continued for the rest of his life. But Romeo was a man of contradictions. If he ran into a dog on the street, he would snarl, snap, and appear ferocious. But if a dog entered our home….as they often did when we fostered…he welcomed them freely. Once inside, they were a member of our pack, and he offered no resistance.

Romeo was one of the best dogs I’ve ever seen around children. I trusted him completely, and he never once betrayed that trust. He loved to play with children and was gentle with babies. Kids responded to him immediately. They found a kindred spirit in him due to his small size and insatiable desire to play.

He enjoyed sitting with us when we would watch tv. In the winter, he was the softest, warmest blanket you could hope for.

We initially kept Romeo for my daughter, but he won us all over. Three years ago, our daughter got her 1st apartment. She wanted to take Romeo…it had always been the plan…but Romeo was older now. He couldn’t tolerate being alone, and his health was a concern. She reluctantly let go of the dream of taking him with her and did what was best for him.

Romeo developed separation anxiety when we all returned to work after things opened up following the Covid shutdown. He would often wake us up in the middle of the night. He needed a check-in….an assurance that we were still there and that all was right with the world.

He and I became fast friends. He was my constant companion. Not underfoot but always present. Keeping an eye on me.

When I was a kid, my dad always tried to get me to eat bananas. He often asked, ‘Would you like to share a banana?” As a kid, I couldn’t really be bothered to eat any fruit, but sometimes I would say yes, mainly because it pleased my father so much when I agreed.

Romeo loved bananas. Every day I would share my banana with him, and in that simple moment, my heart would be reminded of my dad. Romeo connected me to my past.

It wasn’t until he was gone that I realized how much he had shaped our world. When Romeo was around three years old, he began peeing on carpet. We couldn’t break him of it. So we put vinyl flooring down on our entire first floor for him.

In November of 2021, my mother went into hospice. That same week Romeo was diagnosed with a very serious heart condition. I was devastated. The vet said he could die at any moment. But….if they could get the right meds into him, he could possibly live up to two years. I begged God not to take my mother and Romeo at the same time. I was distraught. I very nearly lost it. The thought was so overwhelming that I needed therapy to get through it.

I knew I was losing my mother. I couldn’t lose Romeo too.

But we did find the right meds, and he kept plugging along for another year. In November of 2022, he went into heart failure. But in classic Romeo fashion, he didn’t let it faze him. He trotted into the exam room, and after the doctor performed an ultrasound, she looked at me and was astonished. “There’s no way,” she said, “that this dog should have been able to walk in here on his own steam! He is very sick. What a tough cookie he is!”

They added more meds and stabilized him again. The clock was ticking faster now, though. The first episode of heart failure indicates that it will happen again. And it did. 8 months later, while we were vacationing in NH, my friend called me. She was checking in each day with him, and he had been fine. Until he wasn’t.

“Romeo’s not doing well,” she said. Within a few hours of that call, I was back home along with my daughter and husband. Our insatiably playful dog was barely able to stand. Lifting his head was even too much. We took Romeo to the ER and got the news that I had been bracing for over a year and a half. They told us, “There’s no coming back from this.”

Romeo’s health had consumed the last 20 months of my life. His impending death colored all of my days. He had countless doctor visits, tons of meds along with diet and exercise changes, but he had kept on. Never losing his playfulness, joyful spirit, or appreciation for the people in his life.

Now though, it was time to let him go. Time to repay all the love he gave us with a love that puts his needs above our own.

Throughout the last 20 months, each time I would share the latest vet update with my daughter, she would declare, “Romeo is never going to die!” And it seemed that way. He beat the odds again and again. So even though I had been grieving his impending death for so long, there was still the thought that maybe he could rally again.

But it was evident in the ER. There would be no more rallying. He had managed to live for 20 months after his initial diagnosis, despite continued worsening….it was miraculous, really. But he had become a shadow of his former self.

I am realizing something now that he is gone. It was not in the way we were hoping for, but my daughter was right. Romeo will never die. He lives in our memories. It was not lost on us that Romeo had an enlarged heart. It seemed a physical representation of the love he embodied.

Romeo wasn’t the only one with an enlarged heart. His love caused our hearts to grow as well. He loved us, and we loved him. And love never dies.