Yesterday, I lost my best friend, Retro, unexpectedly to a stroke. He was 11 years old, and my heart is broken.

So many people knew and loved him. It seemed like anyone who spent more than a couple of days around Retro became his friend. He had a way of winning people over without even trying. His personality was bigger than life, and everyone who met him has a story or memory of him.

Retro loved fried egg sandwiches, Popsicles, and Oreo cookies. He would carefully open his Oreos before eating them, like he knew exactly how they were supposed to be enjoyed. He would talk and howl when he wanted something, carrying on full conversations in his own way until you figured out what he was trying to tell you.

He had a bark that could sound mean enough to make anyone think twice about coming to the door. But if he knew you, that bark would quickly turn into his famous hound dog cry when he realized a friend was outside. He was always so happy to see the people he loved.

And if you knew Retro, you know one thing for sure—nothing made him happier than a good poop. He would come strutting back with a smile, proud of himself and excited about life. It was impossible not to laugh.

Retro made friends everywhere he went, but through it all, he was always my protector. He stayed by my side through good days and bad days. He was my shadow, my comfort, and my best friend. He was all I had, and losing him has left a hole in my life that I don’t know how to fill.

I am grateful for every moment we had together, every laugh he gave me, every howl, every tail wag, and every memory. Eleven years wasn’t enough, but I would choose those eleven years with him a thousand times over.

Thank you, Retro, for loving me so faithfully and for bringing so much joy to everyone who knew you. Run free, sweet boy. You were loved by so many, but nobody loved you more than I did. You will never be forgotten.