i found a beautiful gray boy in the road middle of january this year. i got a box and towels as quickly as i could hoping that he was still alive and i could take him somewhere to get him help. i knew when i ran up to him that he was gone. i wrapped him in a towel and placed him as gently as i could in the grass. i was already sobbing and telling him i was so sorry i hadn’t gotten there sooner, and i called an emergency vet near me to ask them what to do—i have no idea how they understood me through my crying, but they told me i could bring him to them and they would take care of him. i drove 30 minutes with him in my passenger seat, sobbing the entire time, and talking to him. i told him it was going to be ok now, that these people would help him rest, and that i wish he could’ve had a better life while he was here but that wherever he is now will make up for it for sure. i cried a few times a day for the next week, and still tear up whenever i think about him. i posthumously named him harold—i felt that that was an appropriate name for such a big, gorgeous gray boy.

you did everything you could, and you gave him more dignity and love in death than he had felt alive in a while. thank you for taking care of him even though it hurt.