By Guest Columnist Meredith Thomas

I asked Mr. Murfreesboro if I could commandeer his column for the month of February to share a short story about a girl and her dog. I think he said it was fine . . . ? Anyway, I hope you like it.

A dog. A boy. A pup. Puppy. Pup-pup. A sir. THE Sir. Mister Sir. Mister Stupid Ears. Stupid Ears. Miller. Miller G. Miller dog. Miller boy. Miller man. A four-legged ball of fur. A bottom-feeder. A loyal friend.

Miller was a 70-pound yellow Lab mix I was blessed to share my life with for 15 years and nine months. He almost hung around long enough to celebrate his 16th birthday on Feb. 22. Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

Our story begins on a warm Saturday in April of 2008. After two or three months of serious searching, and going to bed every night in tears overwhelmed by the sheer number of animals needing homes, we were ready, or so we thought. An unfortunate experience with our rescue of choice had us doubting our decision altogether! We had a teary-eyed little 8-year-old girl with us, so we were getting a puppy that day, come hell or high water. Two hours later we were heading home from Hendersonville with a beautiful eight-week-old ball of honey-colored fuzz asleep in the backseat. I named him “Miller”.

It was immediate and easy to see how much I was going to love this beautiful beast, but couldn’t yet fathom how important to my own survival he would become. I joke often about having commitment issues, but the very best boy I’ve known didn’t require “work” or a pledge of commitment, he only needed love—and he made it so easy to give.

Miller truly was an all-around great dog right from the jump. He was a little needy, very beta, and 100% a momma’s boy. He never wanted to be anywhere else but where I was at any moment. He was so sweet and well-behaved, and became house-trained in no time. He knew a bunch of cool tricks, loved taking naps, and he was gentle and tenderhearted. He could find comfort and peace in even the most mundane activity.

What he loved to do more than anything was be in the water—in, on, near, within walking or driving distance of any water, including but not limited to beaches, lakes, pools, ponds, rivers, creeks, hydrants, culverts, washed-out streets and flooded backyards. But Miller had an edge, too; he dabbled in the dark arts, foraged city streets for chicken bones, got mixed up with some bad skunks, devoured an entire houseplant, and eventually dined on Momma’s unboxed bleach white Nike golf spikes. So bougie!

More than a pet, he was family: a constant cherished companion, a co-pilot, my shadow, my protector and an unwavering anchor for me during difficult times, of which there were many. Whenever I became angry, upset or overwhelmed, (all the feelings that cause me to cry) he would instantly be at my side, placing his sweet head in my lap before my first few tears could even start to fall. Always happy to see me, eager for a walk and grateful for a scratch behind the ears, and regardless of whether or not I even deserved it (I usually didn’t) he stood by me with unwavering loyalty in moments of vulnerability that made him such an indispensable part of my world.

I should also mention the boy was a champ at facing head-on any number of canine degradations like: the big one (snip!), lampshade (a.k.a. the cone of shame), raincoat, lampshade, dreaded winter coat (probably all clothes really!), skin fungus from swimming in sinking creek near the bottoms and naturally the late-in-life episodes of vestibular disease, the shame of indoor shoes, doggie diapers and belly bands, oh my!

When I woke up early on Friday, Dec. 8, 2023, I immediately knew it was the day I had been dreading for years. My sweet little buddy was spent. He had finally dozed off to sleep before we put him in the car. Bill drove as I sat in the backseat cradling Miller’s head in my lap, talking to him and making sure he knew I was there and wasn’t leaving his side. When we got to the vet I was overcome by an intense feeling of gratitude and a lightness of spirit. It’s weird, because this is supposed to be the hardest part, but I felt fairly calm. When it was time to say goodbye, I was at peace and filled with love and gratitude for the honor of sharing in this beautiful moment and giving the most selfless gift of mercy to this sweet, smart, funny, vulnerable beast. He gave everything he had to give every single day and wanted nothing in return. I was blessed to be his human for so long and will always be grateful for the immeasurable impact of his continued presence on my life.

His name was “The Sir.”

And he was a very good boy.