For 14 beautiful years, Scotty was more than just a rescue dog. He was home.

When I first met him at the shelter, he wasn’t the loudest or the biggest. In fact, he was curled in the corner, quiet and unassuming, almost as if he had accepted being overlooked. But there was something about his eyes—soft, tired, and so full of stories. I knelt down, and he didn’t wag his tail. He just looked at me, calm and curious.

That was the moment I knew: he wasn’t waiting for someone to take him home. He was waiting for me.

From that day forward, Scotty became my shadow. My morning coffee buddy, my evening couch companion, my silent therapist through the roughest storms. He had this way of leaning against me when I needed it most—no bark, no whimper—just presence. That quiet love, that steady loyalty, became the heartbeat of our home.

He was with me through career highs and personal lows. He watched my children grow. He greeted every guest at the door with polite curiosity, and every creak in the night with a protective glance. When I came home late from shoots, exhausted and wrung out, he never failed to lift his sleepy head from his bed and meet me with a slow tail wag—just to say, “You’re home. I waited.”

In his older years, his pace slowed. Walks became shorter. Steps became harder. But his spirit never faded. Even as his body grew frail, he still followed me from room to room, still waited by the door when I went out, still looked up at me with those same knowing eyes.

This week, I had to do the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I held his face in my hands, whispered that he was a good boy, and thanked him—for every day, every lesson, every moment. And then I let him go.

There’s an ache in the silence now. An empty space on the rug. A quiet where there used to be breathing. But there’s also love—so much love—that it spills into everything he left behind.

Scotty, you weren’t just a pet. You were part of my soul. You rescued me just as much as I rescued you.

And though you’re gone from my arms, you’ll never be gone from my heart.

Run free, my boy. I’ll see you again someday.

— Christopher