On January 17, 2014, while I was a teenage college student, I traveled to my hometown of Clearlake, CA, to visit a litter of puppies. Having spent time in high school at my friend’s house, I already knew Kenai’s mother, but I didn't yet realize that one of her 8-week-old pups was about to become my entire world. That day, Kenai chose me. He walked up to me and sat on my foot, claiming his place by my side before I even realized the journey we were beginning. When it came time to name him, I thought he bore a striking resemblance to "Kenai" from the movie Brother Bear. After watching the movie again, I knew the name was perfect. He shared that same kindred, protective spirit, too.

The early years were a whirlwind. I quickly learned how hard it is to have a high-energy puppy, but he was so sweet and snuggly with so much personality that I was determined to make it work. For years our routine was built around the dog park; I took him every morning before work and every single day on my lunch break. As he got older, he decided he didn't care much for other dogs, and we transitioned to leisure walks alone. Those quiet walks became his favorite thing in the world. He taught us to slow down, to take life less seriously, and to breathe in the air and take in every moment, rain or shine.

Kenai was the only constant in my life throughout my entire 20s. Through every life-changing event, every move, and every heartbreak, he was there. He truly saved me many times in the deep despairs of depression. He had a look that was entirely his own, a mix of Pitbull, Chow, and Lab that no one could ever quite guess. His tail hair was long, fluffy, and elegant. His eyes were the most comforting shade of warm chocolate brown, holding an all-knowing look that made me feel like he understood every part of my soul without me ever having to say a word. He had a white marking on his chest that looked exactly like an angel, and I know that’s exactly what he was for me.

As our family grew to include his dad, Nick, Kenai became the heartbeat of the home we built together. He always knew when we needed him, sensing our moods and coming to sit right on top of us, letting out a big "huff" as he settled his 94-pound weight against us. He was our protector, always looking out for us and making sure we were safe. He even made sure to guard the shower every time I was in it and keep track of everyone's whereabouts, including his desert tortoise sister, Henrietta.

We’ll never forget the "bunny hop" he did every night when he saw his wet food topper coming, or the way he’d wiggle his entire body in excitement the second we told him we were going for a walk. He loved the simple, good things: hiking through trails, leisure walks with mom and dad, playing, running, swimming, and the endless pursuit of squirrels. He loved playing tug-of-war, chewing on his plethora of toys, napping with his parents, and cheeseburgers.

When he was unexpectedly diagnosed with hemangiosarcoma on December 29th, we fought for him together. He recovered so well from splenectomy surgery on January 7th, but the cancer was just too aggressive. This past Saturday night, an internal bleed left him immobilized, and we knew he was ready to rest. Even in his decline, he wanted his family close, searching for our comfort until the very end.

His life ended peacefully at home with his mom and dad giving him all the pets, hugs, and kisses possible while he passed away in the quiet of the morning. The day prior, we spent the whole day eating his favorite food, soaking up the sun, and snuggling every second. Those final few weeks were a shadow compared to the twelve years he spent living life fully and loving us wholeheartedly. Kenai was our shadow, our protector, and the goodest boy.

Every good thing in our lives has his pawprints on it.