Once upon a time,
I was a sophomore in college.
My two best girlfriends at the time
were a set of blond twins.
We took classes together // We went to parties together // We traveled together
We did everything together.
Inseparable was an understatement.
the three of us went with a friend to the pet store,
and we spotted the most precious little black and tan puppy
with big paws and twinkly brown eyes.
He was playful and snuggly and soft...
all the things a good puppy should be.
After we found out that he was from the pound,
and FREE to a good home,
we collectively made the decision that he would be "our" dog.
One special dog for three girls.
And we named him Captain Beauregard Reno.
Beau, for short.
"We" bought him cute collars.
"We" split the cost of dog food.
"We" took him for walks.
And "we" loved him a lot.
Then, "we" fell apart.
Schoolwork became more important than social life.
Boyfriends got in the way of our friendship.
We slowly drifted apart before, ultimately,
having the most terribly, awful, horrendous argument in the history of arguments.
We never spoke again.
And I found myself
without two close friends.
But I DID have one very sweet dog.
At the time, I shared my off campus apartment with a roommate,
who just happened to be my best friend from high school.
We had a two story apartment,
with both of our bedrooms upstairs,
and a common area downstairs.
We were not allowed to have pets.
And my roommate didn't like dogs.
Long story short,
I didn't heed the rules.
I snuck Beau in,
and hid him in my apartment
I even successfully hid him from my roommate.
Hard to believe, but I was quite stealthy.
Then she found out.
And I knew that I had to do something.
It wasn't fair to her,
who was a growing dog that needed more exercise than our daily walks.
I called my parents and asked if I could please send Beau to our family farm,
so he could live in the big, wide open.
And they said okay.
My mom and I drove Beau over to the farm on a Sunday.
He was wearing his red collar that said Rockstar,
and he was unsure about where we were going.
I worried so much that my sweet dog, who had spent almost every day of his life
in the cozy confines of my apartment, wouldn't do so well in the wild.
I dropped him off,
and even though I knew that I could visit him at the farm whenever I liked
(it's only about an hour from my parent's house),
I just couldn't help but feel sad.
But he LOVED it there.
And now, eleven years later, he is still loving it.
We visited the farm this past weekend,
and Hudson really took up with Beau.
They played together in the fields,
and Hudson gave him so many sweet squeezes.
Beau is twelve years old now.
He ran along behind the truck as we rode through the fields,
he swam through the pond,
and he rolled around with his hound buddy Ruckus.
But by the time we headed back towards the house,
his little legs were getting stiff,
and his age began to show.
We scooped him up and let him ride the rest of the way with us,
on the bed of the truck.
I sat with him, and as the evening breeze blew through our hair,
he nuzzled in close and looked sweetly at me with his big, brown eyes.
And although he didn't stay with me through college
he's still my dog...
and at that moment,
I think he was thanking me for this good life
he has had on the farm.