12/24/2025
Yes!!!
I stood in the lobby of the assisted living facility, holding a glossy brochure promising “dignified aging,” when I realized what it truly cost: giving up the one soul who still looked at me like I mattered.
“No pets over thirty pounds,” the administrator said, tapping her tablet. “It’s a liability.”
I looked down at Barnaby — my old Plott Hound — his gray muzzle resting on my leg, eyes cloudy with age, tail tapping softly. He wasn’t a pet. He was family.
I didn’t sign the papers.
In the car, my daughter sighed when I told her. “You’re choosing a dog over your future, Dad.”
“No,” I whispered. “I’m choosing not to be alone.”
That night, I sat on the porch one last time, the "For Sale" sign already planted in the yard. Inside, my life had been packed into cardboard boxes labeled “essentials.”
But essentials don’t come with barcodes. Sometimes, they’ve got four legs and a slow, steady heartbeat.
The next morning, I did something wild.
I bought a beat-up 1998 camper van with what was left of my savings. Ugly. Rusted. But solid — like me. I loaded up my tools, some clothes, and Barnaby’s bed. Left the rest behind.
And we hit the road.
That afternoon, we stopped by the park. A man was yelling at a barista over spilled coffee. Tension thick. Phones out, people filming… no one stepping in.
Except Barnaby.
He ambled over, leaned against the man’s legs, and let out that low, soulful bay — the kind that feels like it comes from somewhere deeper than sound. The man froze. Looked down at this old dog, all wrinkles and warmth, and something shifted.
“I’m just… tired,” he said.
“We all are,” I replied.
That’s when I knew. The world didn’t need me sitting in a facility, fading quietly. It needed more Barnabys. More quiet kindness. More people who remember how to de-escalate instead of record.
Later, I left a letter for my daughter:
"You were trying to help me die comfortably.
I’m going to teach myself how to live again."
Now, Barnaby and I are chasing sunsets down back roads. Fixing engines in little towns. Talking to strangers over diner coffee. No schedule. No agenda. Just life — messy, real, and ours. 🛠️🐾
You see, the world may have moved on, but that doesn’t mean we’re finished.
We’re not obsolete.
We’re vintage.
And vintage never goes out of style.
