To Simon

I cried every day this week over a dog I've never met.

In fact, I've cried more tears over Simon in the last month than I have over anything else lately. As an unemployed 29 year old empath currently adjusting her antidepressant dosage, that's saying something.

I've been following Isabel and Simon's journey for years. Before Tiki, before Cezar, before Poutine. I watched Isabel pick up medically complex, emaciated, or behaviorally challenging dogs that might not do well in shelters or get selected by potential adopters. She treated each one with kindness, poured love into them, and through it all, there was Simon.

Simon amazed me. The way he was so patient with every dog. He knew when to stay back, or when it was time to play. His instincts made him the perfect foster brother, and every time a new dog arrived, I watched in awe.

I smiled when dogs first realized they were safe, laughed when they first acted out, and cried when they went to their new forever homes.

Isabel's fan base grew, and the support for her, Simon, and Muddy Paws Rescue consistently warmed my heart.

When Isabel released her memoir Dogs, Boys, and Other Things I've Cried About, I knew I'd have to read it. It came out earlier this year, and since I wasn't able to purchase it, I put it on hold at my local library... and waited.

I'm not sure if fate wanted to maximize the emotional damage, but the timing couldn't have been worse—or more meaningful. I hope it enjoyed the performance because I certainly supplied enough tears.

In her book, Isabel talks about many things, but most of all she talks about the dogs and relationships that shaped her twenties. What I took from the book was that your twenties aren't just about building a life—they're about becoming the person who's capable of living it. Sometimes that means heartbreak. Sometimes it means loss. Sometimes it means starting over when you thought you already knew where you were headed.

Now, as a single woman who lost her job earlier this year, ended an engagement a few years ago, and has spent the time since rediscovering my hobbies and learning to love being alone... I think I painfully understand. I'm also doing all of that with my best friend, my furry soul mate, my faithful canine companion.

Watching Isabel reflect on the dog who walked beside her through so much of her twenties made me realize that someday I'll have to say goodbye to the dog who's walking beside me through mine.

I didn't know how soon I'd be watching her live that goodbye in real time.

While I was reading Isabel's memoir, I was also following Simon's declining health online. If you aren't familiar with him, Simon was medically complex for most of his life. Every update carried a little uncertainty, but I still wasn't prepared for the one that came next.

Not long after I had closed the book and shed a few more tears, Isabel announced they would be saying goodbye to Simon.

That was eight days ago.

I've cried every day since.

Through Isabel's videos, I've witnessed their last hike together, the celebration of life held in his honor, and his last feast. I've read hundreds of comments from people who, like me, are mourning a dog they never met. It's a strange kind of grief, but it feels no less real.

Creators are making art in honor of Simon. Donations are being made to rescues in his name. People are deciding to foster or adopt and sharing their stories because of him.

All because a girl fell in love with a dog, and she let the rest of the world fall in love with him too.