We’d seen small signs of hope last week. We’d been buoyed by his will to fight, to live, to steal my shoes once again. But we could hear the rope creaking. The tug-o-war was heating up. Finally, a few days ago, the stalemate broke. He slipped as that f***ing awful disease gained the upper hand.
And then, he died.
In our arms.
Reminding us that even the mightiest hunter is also the hunted.
But he lived. O boy, did he live! For 10 years, with complete abandon, Félix freight-trained his way through life, through fields and forests, doors and windows.
I lost count of the miles he covered.
Spring and summer in the water, autumn in the fields, and winter on the frozen river, pulling a sled single-handedly.
There and back.
But more than anything, Félix did what he was put on this earth to do. He pointed.
He pointed game that we should bring to the table, while pointing out our less-than-steady aim.
He made it a point to prove to us that he faster, stronger, and I must admit, smarter than us.
And he pointed us towards a delicious curiosity in everything canine, leading us to travel half way across the world to learn all we can about these amazing creatures.
And in the end, he showed us just how deeply he had burrowed into our hearts. Hearts that will soon be on the mend, thanks to the kind thoughts of friends and family whose lives he also touched.
Felix was Felix.