On a magical morning of year 2012, we embarked on a journey to Dehradun, to meet Bruno for the first time. As fate would have it, on returning home, we realised we brought his sister Bitsy instead. As the comedy of errors unfolded, while we geared up for another round trip. Bruno met us for the first time. Delicate, motu, golu, chotu and full of curiosity.

I always wanted a Labrador, since a friend of mine had one back in the day, and we took care of him till he eventually gave him away to someone in the Armed Forces. With Bruno, I realised that breeds don't matter when it comes to the bond with a dog. A dog will always love you unconditionally, no matter what.

From scurrying under the sofas to chewing everything up in sight, it's crazy to recall when and how Bruno became an official senior dog. It was just like yesterday when he'd dash along the stairs, jump over all furniture like crazy and yoink us off the bed when he wanted something to be done, immediately. Over the years, even though his wrinkly skin began to take form slowly, his zoomies had no end in sight.

My sister and I would ensure that atleast one of us were to stay back at home, at any given day, since Bruno boy was too strong to be controlled by anyone on walks apart from us (except for my Dad, but he always let Bruno have his way). Adding to that, her and I were the only ones who knew where the off leash violent pets would show up, at what time, and where he liked to relieve himself. Fun fact, Bruno always searched for a pile of rubbish, preferably newspaper or polythene to do you know what. The gentledog would then walk off gracefully.

Last few months, they were challenging for him and us both. Dogs, for some reason, express their discomfort only when things go way bad. We saw it coming, but things like these, you can never prepare enough for it. You'll always be broken.

Losing a pet, it leaves you with a phantom pain. Your muscle memory yearns to find them at every glance, every corner, to feel them tackle you head on, or bark for another biscuit. Sadly, all you're left with is the memories, and an eerie silence.

As his birthday approached, we solemnly and quietly thought of the good old days with him. Needless to say, we missed him trying to fetch a piece of cake, way bigger than what was supposed to be rationed to him.
Yet, I always look back at his 12 years of life with pride. He lived life to the max size. No complaints, no nakhre, only love, sleep, eat and run.

Like my sister said, I hope he runs like crazy, eats all the calcium bones and devours chicken salami as he always did with us here; in the afterlife.

Take care my boy, until next time.