I have tried to post this for a while, but kept getting teared up and never finished.  About a month ago my dad and I went for a quick daysail before I headed down to Englewood to visit a buddy for the weekend. My dog, Rojo, came along for the ride as I didn't plan on returning home before the road trip to pick him up. At almost 15 years old, I didn't like to subject his old bones to the trials of getting around the boat so he hadn't been for a sail in a while.

It was hot, but Rojo moved around the deck with the slow,  plodding dignity afforded to faithful old mutts. As usual, he claimed the best shady spot on the bench beneath the bimini. As we sailed around that day he alternately napped and rested his chin on the coaming to watch the world sail by.

We had a beautiful, if short, daysail. On each tack Rojo would move to the lee side and resituate himself, never complaining despite his obviously aching hips. Rojo has always done that on every tack since he was younger. I guess he just liked the way the heel pressed him into the seatbacks while he lay there. We all enjoyed the breeze on Tampa Bay, then returned to dock and buttoned up quickly. My dad took Rojo into the dockouse to keep cool as I secured the boat. Then we proceeded to Englewood to hang out with my buddy Russel, and had a great weekend.

The next week I came home from a gig, and noticed Rojo wasn't feeling to good. I spent the night sitting with him on and off til 4 am. He never seemed to be in pain, just tired. He would doze for a while, and whine for me when he woke.  As soon as I sat next to him, he would place his head on my lap and relax. I fell back to sleep at 4am, and woke to find him gone.

I find it hard to describe Rojo's impact on my life. I am thankfull that we had one last adventure together and shared a last evening on the kitchen floor to say goodbye. He was my good buddy bear.