The loml: A Tribute to My Sweet Boy, Leo

Who would have thought that the day I posted about friendships would also be the day I had to say goodbye to my best furry friend, my furbaby, Leo. It feels like the universe chose that moment to remind me how fleeting life can be. He was nine years old, a vibrant, active dog who loved life and lived life to the fullest. Despite his age catching up with him, we only began to notice subtle signs of slowing down for the first time this past year—some stiffness in his joints and moments when he’d tire more easily. But up until his final day, he was still the same lively, loving companion we had always known.

This past Monday, my mom called me in the morning to let me know that Leo seemed a bit off—more tired and lethargic than normal. We decided to monitor him, but within a few hours, my mom informed me that Leo had vomited and wasn’t keeping water down. I went over to see him, and initially he seemed okay—lethargic, yes, but he immediately perked up as I walked in, his tail wagging at full force. I sat down beside him and began petting him. Again, he seemed quite peaceful, at first.

I hummed and hawed as to whether I needed to bring him into the vet, and we had almost decided to hold off and monitor overnight. But then, Leo started communicating with me through his body language and positioning. He seemed contorted, his body trembling slightly, and drooling from one side of his mouth. He kept reaching out with his paw, desperately trying to connect with me. And when I held his paw, I was shocked to feel how cold it was. His breathing became more laboured and his heart rate was through the roof. Something was definitely wrong.

And just like that, I knew I needed to bring him to our local Vet Emerg, and while they had estimated a 3-4 hour wait, as soon as we arrived, they took one look at Leo and immediately rushed him to the back. The technician, with urgency in her voice, informed me that the vet had recommended starting a critical care work-up without even doing the initial consultation with me. In that moment, I knew things weren’t looking good. And so, I gave the go ahead.

As I walked into the exam room, I immediately sensed that the news wouldn’t be good. Working in healthcare, I’ve seen the expression that clinicians wear when they have to deliver hard truths. And when the vet shared that Leo had a massive pleural effusion (fluid in the pleural space between his lungs and chest wall), I knew our time together was running out. They couldn’t confirm the cause without more diagnostics and invasive procedures, but it was clear that something aggressive—perhaps a tumor—was affecting his heart and lungs. The prognosis was grim, and the vet explained that further tests or interventions would only cause Leo more suffering without changing the outcome.

I was faced with a difficult decision, but I knew in my heart what the right thing for Leo was—we had to say our goodbyes. Writing that out now immediately brings tears to my eyes, because you have to understand that I would pay any amount of money if I thought I could save him or buy him more time. I have spared no expense throughout Leo’s life and have received astronomical vet bills for him before. But today was different because Leo was suffering, and I knew we couldn’t fix this (no really, I can’t).

With things unfolding so quickly and unexpectedly I asked if there was any way to buy enough time for Leo and I to spend one last night together. The vet confirmed just how sick Leo was, stating that she didn’t think he would last through the night let alone a few hours.

As the team worked quickly to organize everything, I called my parents. They had always been a huge part of Leo’s life—doggy daycare, sleepovers, trips to the cottage—they had so much love for Leo and welcomed any chance to spend time with him. Whenever the three of us were all together, we would joke that Leo was surrounded by “all his favourite people”. So, in this extremely difficult moment, it only felt right that we would all be with him together, to say our final goodbye.

The way the staff cared for Leo, treating him with such respect and kindness during his last moments, will always stay with me. Leo was rolled in on a stretcher, covered up with cozy blankets. You could see the fear in his eyes, but as soon as he saw his family, I think he knew we would keep him safe.

As the vet prepared, we all surrounded Leo, each of us showering him with love. Hugging him, petting him, telling him he was the sweetest, most special boy. He fought the oxygen at first, but once I took over holding it to his face, he seemed to relax, and I could see him settle into the love and comfort we all were giving him. It was heartbreaking, but in those final moments, I like to think that Leo knew he was surrounded by his family, and that he wasn’t alone. As the sedative was given, his suffering was over.

At the staff’s suggestion, we took a hair clipping from Leo’s tail, and I requested a stamp of his boop-able nose and another of his paw. His ashes will come back to me, and the plan will be to scatter some in each of his three favourite places—his forever home with me, my parents’ home and the cottage. Leo was at one of these places at any given time. He never went to a dog kennel and was with one of us every single day.

The past few days have been a whirlwind of emotions—so many tears, so much heartache. It’s hard to grasp that Leo won’t be walking through the door anymore. But I’ve been leaning into creativity to help heal my heart—painting a portrait of the two of us, and writing a poem dedicated to Leo and the impact he’s had.

As I sit here in my grief, I can’t help but think about how much Taylor’s lyrics have carried me through these days. Listening to some of Taylor’s most heart-wrenching and relatable songs has been a comfort in a way that only music can be. Songs like Ronan and Sad Beautiful Tragic perfectly mirror the emotions I’m feeling. Leo may be gone, but the love we shared will live on forever, just like the way Taylor’s music continues to resonate, long after the song ends. You’ll always be my sweet boy, and I’ll keep you in my heart, always.

Although these tributes haven’t taken away the pain, I can feel myself slowly coming to terms with the loss. And sharing his story with you all makes the sting of his absence just a little bit easier to bear.

Leo, you were my best 9 years. You made me a mom, and you brought more joy into my life than I could have ever imagined. You’ll always be my baby, my security blanket, and the love of my life. Even now, I carry you with me in every step I take, and while I may no longer see you in the flesh, your spirit will forever walk beside me. I know you’re running free in doggy heaven, eating all your favorite treats (a.k.a. banana butts) and getting the best belly rubs. And until we meet again, I’ll keep you with me in my heart and in the tattoo that forever binds us together.

My life was forever changed when we met—if I believed in fate, I would know that our love story was written in the stars long before either of us existed. I will never forget you.

Love you, forever and always, to the moon and back.

Xo,

Mumma