Thank you for letting us join this community and your kind words. I can't tell you how much I appreciate how supportive this community is. Thank you for listening/reading our story. I apologize, this may be a little long.

Today was the first morning in nearly 9 years I didn't have to get out of bed to let Cassidy out or feed her. Well, aside from being out of town but frequently she was with me then anyway. She came with me everywhere she possibly could. I won't lie, I haven't gotten out of bed yet. It's about 3 PM where I am. A couple of hours ago, I realized she still had appointments at CSU tomorrow and Thursday. When they asked why I was canceling, all I could muster was, "she didn't make it."

If I may, I wanted to share a bit more of Cassidy's story. She was truly exceptional and so special. Although, one of my favorite quotes that I believe with every fiber of my being is, "Everyone thinks they have the best dog, and none of them are wrong."

Cassidy was a 9-10ish old Heinz 57. A true mix of a mix of a mix. But, mostly St. Bernard and German Shepherd. I proudly called her my mountain mutt - I believe most people who have mixed breeds have taken 'mutt' back as an endearing term, it's certainly how I felt.

We found each other in September 2011. I was a senior in college in Colorado Springs, and Cassidy was a street dog who they couldn't catch for months. Despite that she was probably no more than 6-8 months old when they finally caught her.

I was volunteering at the Humane Society of the Pikes Peak Region at the time, when I came around the corner and there she was. We locked eyes and she immediately dove into a play bow, tail going crazy. She was underweight and malnourished, but her smile was infectious. The HS had named her "Gyzmo," it never fit. I asked if I could see her in a room, and when they brought her in she tore her leash out of the other volunteer's hands and dove into my lap. She flipped on her back in my arms and licked my face and neck uncontrollably and couldn't get close enough. I also couldn't get her close enough and it took no time for me to realize I could never let go.

So I didn't. I took her home maybe ten minutes later.

I was still moving back into a house for senior year, so my car was still full of my crap. She slept in my lap for the drive. When we got home, she enthusiastically greeted my 5 roommates. I went upstairs for two seconds to grab something, and she dropped them like a bad habit to follow after me. Since the second she dove into my lap in that room at the HS, she has been my shadow. An hour later, I had renamed her - Cassidy.

The first time she went to the bathroom, she started peeing in the kitchen. I was kind of startled and laughing, but I went, "Nonononononono" and ran her to the back door. I can say this with complete honesty, she never went to the bathroom inside again. That was her potty training. That was my street puppy's potty training.

Cassidy found me at a particularly hard time in my life. Cassidy was there to get me outside and keep me active. But, most importantly, she kept me smiling and laughing. She's such a goofball, a huge goober. I couldn’t love her more. All our adventures were better because of her and I always impatiently waited in great anticipation of the next one. She’s my right-hand lady, my adventure pal, and just everything to me. I owe her a lot.

Through our all too short years together, we traveled the country, we hiked 14ers, we slept under the stars, and we swam in alpine lakes. We biked, we skied, whatever I wanted to do she was 3,201% up for as long as we were together. Cassidy loved hugs, she didn't care how tightly you held her, she just beamed. She didn't care if kids or puppies climbed on her or pulled at her ears and tail. The only thing she cared about was not being left behind.

Cassidy hated it when I took off her collar. It stressed her out when I had to wash it. When I would hang dry it on the line, she would lay next to it. Every time I put it back on her, I would look her square in the eyes, she would look right back and smile as her tail wagged, I would scritch her neck and ears enthusiastically and tell her, "You're an owned dog. You're my dog."

Before the vet came yesterday, we got a couple of hours to just sit in the grass in one of her favorite spots. She got so many treats and so much love. She held her head high, sniffing the air as I cried into her neck. I kept repeating that over and over, "You're an owned dog. You're a loved dog. You're my dog." I thanked her, but I couldn't stop.

When Cassidy was gone, and her head still in my lap, the vet asked me if I wanted to take her collar. It was something I had thought about it previously; but, in that moment I couldn't do it. I had to keep it. I couldn't let this part of her go yet. Now I can't help but feel that was selfish, a mistake.

A part of my soul, a part of my heart, is gone. She's gone. I won't hear her collar jingling. I won't hear her nails on the floor as she trots after me. I won't hear how talkative she got when I was gone for anything more than 5 minutes where she couldn't follow.

One of my favorite compliments was when complete strangers, or anyone really, commented on our bond. I loved the idea that people that didn't even know us could tell, could feel it. Could feel how much I loved her.

I can only hope that she felt and knew it too.