Tonka "The Monster" Truck

Tonka “The Monster” Truck ❤️
April 4th — Seventeen Years of Love, Chaos, Adventure, and Unconditional Love

Seventeen years ago, on April 4th, a little ball of fluff and fur came into this world ass first, because apparently even being born had to be done in true Tonka fashion.

From that very first moment, you were unmistakably Tonka.

You weren't graceful. You weren't quiet. And you certainly weren't interested in asking permission.

You arrived with sass, spunk, attitude, and a personality far bigger than your little body could possibly contain. You were a force of nature wrapped in fur, and you made it very clear from the beginning that you were going to do things your way.

You grew into the kind of boy who didn't simply walk into a room.

You entered it.

Sometimes with your head.

Quite literally.

You managed to dent garage doors with your head and then trot away as if nothing had happened. No hesitation. No regret. No looking back to inspect the damage.

Just Tonka being Tonka.

And then there were the butterflies.

You would take off after them with everything you had, completely convinced that catching one was the most important mission on Earth. You didn't care how ridiculous you looked or where you were headed. You saw a butterfly, and suddenly that was the only thing that mattered.

That was you.

You lived with your whole heart.

You loved with your whole heart.

And you never seemed to worry about whether anyone else understood your methods.

There were so many adventures over the years.

Long car rides to other states. New towns. New places. New smells. New things to investigate. Miles and miles of road with you along for the ride, ready to discover whatever waited around the next corner.

Those trips are part of the story of us.

At the time, they were simply car rides and destinations. But looking back now, I realize they were something much bigger. They were pieces of a life we were building together, one mile and one memory at a time.

Seventeen years of ordinary days that became extraordinary simply because you were there.

Seventeen years of fur, muddy paws, stubbornness, kisses, adventures, laughter, and more than a little chaos.

Somewhere along the way, you became so much more than a dog.

You became family.

You became my son.

And now, at seventeen, your body is finally asking you to slow down.

Your steps are slower.

You limp.

Your tail hangs low.

The body that once carried you charging headfirst into the world now needs more time and more help.

You are losing your sight, and sometimes the world becomes confusing for you. When I'm out of your smell, the anxiety comes. When you can't see where you are or where I've gone, you can become frightened and lost.

That is one of the hardest things to watch.

Because I want you to feel safe.

I want you to know where I am.

I want you to know that even when you can't see me, I'm still here.

I wish I could explain to you that you don't have to be afraid. That you are home. That you are loved. That your world may have changed, but my love for you hasn't.

Sometimes I look at you now and still see that young Tonka underneath it all.

I can see the little ball of fluff.

I can see the sass.

I can see the confidence.

I can see the boy charging after butterflies and heading off on another adventure as if nothing in the world could slow him down.

And then I look at you now, and I realize just how many years have passed.

Seventeen years.

A lifetime.

And somehow, not nearly enough.

That's the strange thing about loving someone for so long. You don't notice the years as they pass. You simply live them.

One day at a time.

One adventure at a time.

One kiss at a time.

And suddenly you are looking at an old boy who has spent nearly two decades beside you.

I don't know how anyone is supposed to prepare for that.

There is no way to make seventeen years feel like enough.

So instead of trying to make sense of the ending, I want to remember the beginning.

I want to remember the ridiculous little puppy who entered the world ass first.

The boy who dented garage doors with his head.

The butterfly chaser.

The road-trip companion.

The stubborn little personality who always seemed to have an opinion.

The boy who gave kisses and made himself part of every corner of our lives.

Those are the pieces of you I will hold closest.

And for whatever time we have left, I want to give you the same thing you've given me for seventeen years:

A life filled with love.

I want to slow down with you.

I want to be patient when you need reassurance.

I want to help you when you are unsure.

I want to let you know where I am when your eyes can't.

I want you to feel my presence and know that you're safe.

Because you have spent your life being there for me.

Now it's my turn to be there for you.

And when I think about everything you've given me, I realize how much of my life has your paw prints all over it.

Every road trip.

Every adventure.

Every ridiculous Tonka moment.

Every butterfly.

Every kiss.

Every laugh.

Every memory.

You have been there through seventeen years of life, and you have left pieces of yourself in all of it.

I may not be able to stop time.

I may not be able to give you your young body back or restore your sight.

But I can make sure you never have to wonder whether you are loved.

You are.

Completely.

Unconditionally.

Always.

Tonka, you will forever be my Monster Truck.

My stubborn, sassy, ridiculous, beautiful boy.

The little ball of fluff and fur who came into this world ass first and somehow managed to drive straight into my heart.

Thank you for the adventures.

Thank you for the kisses.

Thank you for the laughter.

Thank you for every mile.

Thank you for every memory.

Thank you for seventeen incredible years of being exactly who you were meant to be.

You were never just a dog. You were my son, my companion, my adventure buddy, and one of the greatest pieces of my life.

And no matter how many years pass, there will always be a place in my heart that belongs only to you.

I love you, Tonka.

My Monster.

My boy.