Mister Kogi. Buddy. Buttmunch. My silly, smelly little Kogi Bear. 10 years is so long yet so short. You filled my home and my heart with a lifetime of love and memories. Yet, it feels like just yesterday that I was still counting down the days until I could finally bring you home. You've crossed the rainbow bridge now, but your little paw prints on my heart will be a part of me forever.

I remember the day I brought you home. Truth be told, I told Mark about you but kept you a secret from my parents. When my dad found out, he told me that he doesn't want a dog. I told him, "Fuck you Dad, I do what I want!" (Not really) But the day I brought you home, literally all it took was just one look and you won him over instantly. In that exact moment, you wiggled your little puppy face into his heart and turned my dad into your Lolo. He didn't stand a chance.

In no time, you became the glue for the family. We used to always just do our own things, but with you joining as the youngest family member, everyone had their hand in raising you. Lolo would teach you how to catch tennis balls and food with your mouth. Lola would feed you every morning and clean up whenever you had diarrhea. (Man, do you remember that one week??) Mark would play fetch with you and eventually introduce you to your favorite treat — baby carrots.

For me, well, you became my everything.

From that first day onward, it wasn't just about me taking a crash course in being a dog parent — it was a crash course on figuring out your weird-ass quirks.

I never told you this to your face, Kogi, but you are by far the weirdest eater I've ever known. For whatever reason, I had the hardest time getting you to eat as a puppy. I eventually threw in a tennis ball to turn dinner into a game. Next thing I know, that became your thing for the rest of your life. Dinner time = slowest-game-of-fetch-ever time. One toss = one bite. That's not normal, Buttmunch. But you always cherished it…and so did I.

Also, I'm 100% sure I’ll never find someone so eager to lick the meat-sweats off my bald head the way you did. You always did it so passionately, with your eyes closed so tight, like the ending of a love story.

Now that I think about it, I'm not sure if that was your love language or because you thought that was mine. To be honest, it's not my thing...and my bald head has smelled like your breath for the past 10 years straight. But you always cherished it…and so did I.

You had this really weird love-hate relationship with back rubs too, Kogi Bear. Every morning or mid-afternoon while you were barely awake, I would rub your back and watch you squirm all over the bed, purring like a kitten for a solid minute…and then you'd suddenly roll over, stand up, and shake it off like, "No! I hate this! You stress me out!" Don't lie, you know you loved it…and so did I.

Oh hey, do you remember your first week home? I think it was your fifth day, I was messing around with my friend's Google Glass while you were sniffing around. This was the moment I learned your signal for going potty. I'm sorry I flipped you over mid-poop and then dropped you as I tried to catch your turd. But hey, we managed to keep that poop off the carpet! High five, buddy! It's all about developing team chemistry right from the beginning.

Do you remember the time I took you to the dog park and you were supposed to be my wingman? You were supposed to go up to those two Asian girls and lead them to me. Instead, you ran up to them, started snorting / reverse-sneezing for a full minute, and then came running back to me. Not exactly the smoothest move but who am I to judge? You're the one with the ability to go up to any woman and just kiss them on the mouth without getting a restraining order.

Looking back at all our cherished memories, I realize how you taught me so much about living in the moment. You taught me to find joy in the simplest, everyday things. Every single time I took you on the same walks on the same few routes, you would always take the time to sniff every freakin' bush and blade of grass like you've never sniffed them before in your life. Every single walk for you was like a brand new book that you had to take your sweet time to read, from beginning to end. You always cherished those simple moments…and because of you, so did I.

Our walks together were your most favorite thing in the world. I promise to keep going on our daily walks for you, Kogi, with your collar in my hand, and your joyful sense of curiosity in my heart.

While your presence will be felt on every walk, there are so many things I will miss without you:

• I will miss seeing you napping in my bed and my bean bag chair while I work.

• I will miss you waking me up every weekend, getting clingier and clingier until I finally got out of bed.

• I will miss our mid-day weekend naps together.

• I will miss holding your hind leg while you pee so you don't step in your own puddle.

• I will miss your ears perking up and you barking every time I say, "Who's that??"

• I will miss you guarding me with your life while I'm sitting on the toilet.

• I will miss hearing you running up and down the hallway frantically when you were playing fetch with Mark.

• I will miss hearing your high-pitched "Hey, get me the fucking ball" bark whenever it rolled under the couch.

• I will miss the sound of you walking up to me and dropping your favorite stuff animals at my feet when you wanted to play. And when I didn't respond to you immediately, you would sit there patiently and politely, like the goodest boy ever.

• I will miss you sprawling all over my packed clothes whenever you noticed me packing up for a trip.

• I will miss rolling up your favorite toys in my blanket and watching you spend 10 minutes straight trying to dig them out. You're so cute when you're tired, lol.

• I will miss you chasing me around the house whenever I have a fresh handful of baby carrots in my hand every night.

• I will miss all my days beginning and ending with you, your cuddles, and your big fat sloppy kisses.

The paw prints you left on my heart will never fade, and for that, all I can feel is gratitude.

Thank you for teaching me patience.

Thank you for teaching me to live in the moment and to find joy in the simplest things in life.

Most of all, thank you for teaching me unconditional love. You were my #1 from Day 1. And you made sure I knew, every single day, that I was yours too.

Although our time together came to a sudden end, I am at peace knowing I was able to be there with you, talking to you, and comforting you, face-to-face, right up until the moment passed. You were always there for me. I was always there for you.

Whenever my time on this earth is supposed to come, I look forward to waking up in a grass field and seeing you running to me in slow motion. I promise you an eternity of long walks, games of fetch, back rubs, baby carrots, and all the bacon-licious meat-sweats on my head for you to lick as much as you want. Until then…

Aloha for now, Mister Kogi. My goodest boy. And my bestest friend.

Forever and Always,
Mel

by Kent Nerburn

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One time I arrived in the middle of the night for a pick up at a building that was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.

Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.

"Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice.

I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase.

The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.

"It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated."

"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."

I looked in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.

"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me.

It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers."

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware – beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

Mark Manson:

You can fall in love with a wide variety of people throughout the course of your life. You can fall in love with people who are good for you and people who are bad for you. You can fall in love in healthy ways and unhealthy ways. You can fall in love when you’re young and when you’re old. Love is not unique. Love is not special. Love is not scarce.

But your self-respect is. So is your dignity. So is your ability to trust. There can potentially be many loves throughout your life, but once you lose your self-respect, your dignity or your ability to trust, they are very hard to get back.

Back in the day, I used to be super private about my personal life. No matter how hurt or how angry I was, I kept it all inside. I felt like it was the honorable thing to do.

But then I realized how much that shit would just eat me from the inside. That little fire in me would grow bigger and bigger...to the point where it'd just take one wrong push of a button and I would unleash everything on one unlucky person.

I couldn't take it anymore.

So I started to open up. A lot more. I'd blast all my business on my blog. Passive aggressive posts, left and right. Some posts even calling people out, straight up. It didn't matter how outrageous or irrational I was feeling; I was hurt, I was angry, and I wanted to let the whole fucking world know it. So I did.

But then I realized that venting publicly never solved anything. Nobody gives a shit. Nobody cares for a pity party. It only caused more drama for others and it'd always eventually come back to me.

So then I started to confide in my close friends. I'd tell them everything. I trusted them, wholeheartedly. They were my closest friends and they were always looking out for me.

But then I realized how much friends gossip. Even the close ones. I learned that telling them, "please don't tell anyone" apparently means, "okay, tell your close friends everything that I'm about to tell you, but tell them not to tell anyone."

I learned how fast and how dangerous the gossip train can get. In my most vulnerable times, when all I was doing was clawing and reaching for guidance and stability, I inadvertently became the source of gossip and ended up hurting people I still cared about. (You know who you are, and I'm so fucking sorry I hurt you.)

So now everything has come full circle. I've learned that I can't trust people. I've learned that I can't just scream at the world and blast shit on the internet. I've learned that if I'm going down, I can't just take other people down with me. I've learned to keep my private life private.

I let shit eat me on the inside. I fight my own battles now. I struggle with my own demons. Constantly. Because at the end of the day, it's the honorable thing to do, and the only person that will ever truly be around for me is...me.

I wish I could say that everything from my past has made me a better person instead of a bitter one.

But I can't.

I don't know how to trust anymore. The times I stepped up to do the right thing are the times that I got burned. I've learned from my mistakes but the bitterness is still too much.

I push people away. I keep everyone at a safe distance. I'm too damn scared to let anyone close enough to hurt me again.

It's not the right way to live"¦but it's the only way I know right now.

"Talking." Courting. Dating. Becoming official. Moving in. Relationship-defining fights. The blessing of her parents. Proposal. Marriage.

I always believed that the whole journey should be honorable.

Maybe I'm just old-fashioned like that.

But I'm slowly opening up to the idea that maybe love doesn't have to follow that script to be honorable.

Sometimes a woman's love overlaps two men for a while before finally committing to the right one.

Sometimes the right one started off as a rebound.

Sometimes two people are right for each other even though some closest friends/family say it's wrong.

Sometimes the right one once dated a close friend.

Sometimes two people falling in love means someone on the outside has to get hurt.

Maybe when it comes to love, the only honor that's needed is two people that are meant for each other, finally finding each other.

And nothing else matters.

I've always believed that if I always treat people the way I want to be treated, good things will happen to me.

That working hard and being kind will take me places.

That what goes around, comes around.

That all the times I've gotten burned is just me paying my dues, and later in life I will be rewarded for my selflessness. For my compassion. For my internal desire to want to make my mark on this world by leaving it a little more beautiful than I found it.

Maybe I'm wrong.

Maybe the only way to get what I really want is to be selfish. To take what I want. To not prioritize anyone or anything else but myself and what I want.

But I don't want that. I don't want to believe that.

I can't explain why it is so deeply entrenched in me to always want to do the right thing, when my biggest losses in the past have proven that I will be just be taken advantage of.

Maybe I'm just being blind. Stupid. Naive. Ignorant. I don't know"¦

But I'll keep trying.

There has to be something good for me out there. Something that'll make everything in the past worthwhile.

At least I hope so.

It's not until waaay after things fell apart that you are finally able to see with clarity:

It's not about what you two did or didn't do to each other.

It's about how you two made each other feel.

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