Hi, I’m Remi. This is my journey as a support dog, where I’ve found true friendship with Lilly, Gus, Trigger, my brother Colt, and many others along the way. My story is a heartwarming series about loyalty, love, and the bonds of family, told through a dog’s eyes to remind us all that life’s greatest adventures begin with an open heart.
If anything, it had made everything feel more real. The house that had once been filled with Pops’ laughter, his stories, and the smell of the backyard barbecue had become quiet in a different way. It wasn’t an empty quiet. It was the kind of quiet that follows when someone leaves behind a space no one else can fill.
Mom had been moving between our house and Mama’s every day. Dad helped whenever he could. Every room seemed to have something that reminded everyone of Pops. His favorite chair. His coffee mug. His Marine hat resting on the table. Even his boots were still by the door as if he might walk in, lace them up, and head outside one more time.
The morning of the funeral felt different before the sun even came up.
I could feel it.
Dogs know when something important is happening. We may not understand every word, but we understand the hearts carrying them.
Cars began arriving before breakfast. Relatives came from places I had never heard of. Some hugged Mom. Others hugged Mama for a long time without saying anything at all. They carried trays of food into the kitchen, flowers into the living room, and memories into every conversation.
The house was full again.
But it wasn’t filled with celebration.
It was filled with goodbye.
I walked quietly from room to room watching everyone. Some people smiled as they shared stories about Pops. A moment later they would wipe tears from their eyes. Others laughed while remembering something funny he had done before suddenly becoming silent again. I didn’t understand how people could laugh and cry almost at the same time.
Maybe that’s what love looks like when someone leaves.
Outside beneath the big tree, the Rat Pack gathered together.
Colt was already lying in the grass when I walked over. Gus rested beside him with his head on his paws. Tigger wasn’t chasing squirrels like he usually did. Even little Ozzy, who always seemed to find something exciting to explore, simply curled up beside us.
No one felt much like playing.
“Everyone’s sad,” Ozzy whispered.
“They are,” Colt answered softly.
“I don’t like it,” Gus said.
“Neither do I,” Tigger admitted.
I looked toward the house where people continued coming and going through the front door.
“I’ve never seen Mom cry this much,” I said quietly.
Colt looked toward the window where Mama sat surrounded by family.
“I’ve never seen Mama this quiet.”
We all watched the house together.
“What happens today?” Ozzy finally asked.
None of us answered right away.
“I heard them say they’re taking Pops somewhere,” Gus said.
“They’re taking him to his resting place,” Colt replied.
Everyone slowly walked outside dressed in dark clothes.
Mom knelt beside me and wrapped her arms around my neck.
“I’ll be back soon, sweetheart,” she whispered.
I licked the tears from her cheek.
I wished I could go with her.
I wished I could stay beside her the way I always did when she was hurting.
But today I couldn’t.
Dad rubbed behind my ears before getting into the car with Mom.
“We’ll see you later, buddy.”
One by one the cars pulled away until the driveway was empty.
The house felt strangely still.
The five of us stayed beneath the tree waiting.
None of us knew how long.
The hours seemed to stretch forever.
Sometimes neighbors stopped by to check on us. Someone filled our water bowls. Another person gave us treats, but none of us were very hungry. We simply waited.
Dogs understand waiting.
Sometimes waiting is the hardest thing we ever do.
Late that afternoon we finally heard the cars returning.
Before anyone opened a door, I knew something had changed.
The sadness felt different.
Not heavier.
Quieter.
As though everyone had cried until there were no tears left.
Mom stepped out holding something carefully against her chest.
It wasn’t flowers.
It wasn’t food.
It was a folded American flag.
I’d never seen one folded like that before.
Its blue field with bright white stars rested neatly against perfectly folded red and white stripes.
Mom carried it with both hands as though it was one of the most precious things she had ever held.
I watched as she walked toward Mama.
Mama reached out and gently touched the flag before holding it close.
“What is that?” Ozzy whispered.
Colt looked toward the porch.
“I heard Uncle Mike talking before they left,” he said. “He said Pops would receive military honors.”
“What does that mean?” Ozzy asked.
“It means Pops served our country.”
“I know he was a Marine,” I said.
“So did my mom,” Colt answered. “She told me Marines are people who promise to protect others, even when it means risking everything.”
We all looked back toward the folded flag.
“I heard someone say there was a twenty-two-gun salute,” Tigger added.
“I think it was twenty-one,” Colt said gently. “Dad was explaining it to someone. Soldiers stood together and fired their rifles into the sky to honor Pops.”
“Why?” Ozzy asked.
“Because he was one of them.”
None of us spoke for a while.
Finally I looked back at the folded flag resting in Mama’s lap.
“So... that flag came home because Pops couldn’t?”
Colt nodded slowly.
“I think so.”
The wind moved softly through the backyard.
The same backyard where Pops had built memories with all of us.
The place where he had thrown tennis balls, laughed at our zoomies, grilled hamburgers for the family, and sat in his favorite chair watching us run until the sun disappeared.
The yard hadn’t changed.
But somehow it felt different.
I walked over to Mama and rested my head against her knee.
She smiled through her tears and gently stroked my ears.
“He loved you, Remi,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes.
I already knew.
And somehow hearing those words made me miss him even more.
That evening, after everyone had gone home and the house became quiet once again, the Rat Pack gathered beneath the tree for one last time before Mom called me home.
“I think I understand something now,” I said.
The others looked at me.
“When someone loves you enough, they leave pieces of themselves everywhere.”
I looked toward the porch where the folded American flag rested beside Pops’ photograph.
“In the backyard.”
“In the stories.”
“In the people they protected.”
“And in the hearts that keep remembering them.”
Colt smiled softly.
“I think Pops would like that.”
As Mom called my name, I stood up and looked back at the house one last time before climbing into the car.
I didn’t fully understand death.
I probably never would.
But I was beginning to understand something even bigger.
A Marine may lay down his body.
But courage...
Love...
And the life he built for everyone around him...
Those never get buried.
They live on in every heart that remembers.
🐾 Remi
Thank you for reading. This work is reader-supported, and your presence here matters.
🐾 Remi’s Journey is a heartwarming mini-series following Remi, a support dog, through friendship, family, adventure, love, and life’s lessons. One memory, one adventure, one wagging tail at a time.
Here’s last week’s story
The Positive Pen by John Rinaldo is a weekly publication centered on soul work, reflection, and the quiet process of becoming. Through honest writing and lived experience, he explores what it means to grow, endure, and find your voice.
He also hosts the live podcast The Positive Pen: Stories, Soul Work & Substack, where writers, authors, and artists share their journeys through meaningful, real conversations. The show airs every Monday at 4 PM EST.
John is currently working on Ciao Bella: Forgotten in the Shadows, a documentary project telling the story of Italian families who, during World War II, risked everything to help Jewish families escape to safety across the Alps.
Author’s Note: I have dyslexia and use assistive technologies, including AI-assisted editing, to improve grammar and readability. Every story reflects my lived experiences, voice, and final approval.
This work is protected under U.S. and international copyright law. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, displayed, or transmitted in any form without prior written permission. Official publications are released only through verified accounts directly controlled by John V. Rinaldo.
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.