My teeniest boy who survived. A mere 8.1 ounces. You were a joy to watch every single moment. You were vocal during tube feedings, but enjoyed your sponge baths immensely. My middle of the pack pup, with such a big heart. You were an instant cuddler, and that has not changed at all. You spent hours sucking on my fingers, on pacifiers, while the others sucked on you.
They sucked on you and Leah to the point that at just over weeks old, I had to separate you two from the rest so that your genitals could heal. I had two heated playpens taking up most of my living room. I fretted endlessly. I worried. I checked your temps often, I made sure you were warm. You all got to play at feeding and playtime, but I worried about keeping you two separate.
As it turns out, it was an unnecessary worry. Two weeks later, you both healed enough to join the others and you all got your very own room in the den, to grow, to play, to flourish. And that you did.
You have always been up for snuggling, for cuddling, for giving kisses. Yet one more thing that has stayed with you as you’ve grown into a 31 lb. meatball. And I hope that never changes.
You have been amazing with everyone you’ve met—dogs, kids, adults, cats. You love to play outside, you’re intelligent yet stubborn, You are the best sitter I know.
You have now been my little sidekick for 5 months and two days. 155 days. Thirty shy of half a year.
It has been one of the hardest experiences of my life, first working hard to make sure these teeny tiny preemie puppies survived, and then wrangling you all up daily and making sure you were safe, well rounded, and loved, and then letting each of you go on to your forever homes. It has been filled with emotions—sadness, panic, worry, stress, laughter, joy, fear, anger (not at you guys), irritation, happiness—but most of all—love. So much love that each time one of you left, my heart shattered more and more until I was sure there was none of it left.
I know that each of your siblings are in amazing homes, with amazing parents who love them so extremely much. But letting them walk out the door, a being who had been a part of my very fabric of life every moment, was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do.
You, my dear Levi, we have been back and forth on endlessly until the week after Hannah left. When we started out, I knew I would have to let each of you go on to new homes. I knew my heart would shatter. I knew it would be hard to piece back together.
We don’t need another dog. We don’t need the expense. We don’t need the chaos, we don’t need another set of dirty feet leaving paw prints all over the house, another personality to integrate and develop, another training to go through, another crate taking up space.
But here we are. We definitely don’t NEED another dog. But you aren’t just any dog. You are the last of my miracle babies. The final gift of my grand opus. The last remaining shard of my heart that hadn’t broken off in this journey. And you are perfection.
I know that Bentley won’t be around forever. He may have 6 months, 2 years, or five… there’s no way to know. But what I do know, is you fit. And I can not have a whole house full of female dogs when he is no longer with us. None of us would survive that.
So thank you, Levi, for bringing the final member of our pack. We saved the grand finale for the most special boy, one who reminds me so much of my dearest Abby. Not in appearance, but in personality. Who reminds me of my Frenchie boy who didn’t get as much time in this world as he should have. Who IS genetically related to my beautiful Clover. Who has the best mixture of sweet and spice.
You are part of the strongest, bravest, toughest, most well behaved, sweetest, courageous and resilient litter of pups I have ever known. Thank you for allowing me to be an part of your journey, and thank you for choosing me to be your mom.