I can hardly believe we are here again. Last night, one of the very best dogs we’ve ever been blessed with peacefully passed away in his sleep. Indy wasn’t just a pet—he was the heart of our family, a steadfast companion, and a source of comfort and joy for the last twelve years.

We adopted Indy from JCAC twelve years ago. Originally, my plan was simple and practical: I was casually looking for a dog I could train, hoping to eventually place him in a good home, paying only the adoption fee. But then I saw his baby picture on the website. Even at that young age, the profound sadness in his eyes stopped me cold. I couldn’t look away. Something inside told me I had to meet him.

When I arrived at the shelter, Indy was quiet, withdrawn, and sitting silently in his cage. But the moment we stepped outside into the yard, something in him shifted. He opened up completely, revealing the gentle and loving soul hidden beneath that sadness. In that instant, I knew I wasn’t leaving without him. I signed the adoption papers, and Indy came home with us that very day.

From the moment we brought him into our lives, his joy was contagious. He quickly made friends with every dog we had, but his bond with Havok was something truly extraordinary. They became inseparable, moving through life side by side like two halves of a whole. If you found one, you could be sure the other was never far behind.

Indy had only one flaw: he was wary of strangers. His fear sometimes made him unpredictable, but we understood him deeply. We knew how to manage his anxieties safely, and more importantly, he trusted us completely. He was ours forever, without question. He was the girls’ dog—their childhood companion, their protector, their constant playmate. They fought for space on their beds with both him and Havok, and Indy cherished every moment of that lively affection.

Heartbreak, though, is an inevitable part of life. When Havok passed away just a month before Indy’s 12th “Gotcha Day,” Indy was visibly brokenhearted. The loss weighed heavily on him, and the house felt emptier without his best friend. Yet, like the resilient soul he was, Indy slowly began reconnecting with other dogs in our pack. He seemed happier again, more playful, showing us the incredible capacity he had to love, heal, and adapt even in the face of grief.

Indy’s final night was just like any other. He was happy and bouncy when I let him out to do his business. He came inside eagerly for his nightly dental chew, eating, drinking, playing, and asking for pets. He was vibrant, healthy, and steady until the very end. Indy left this world on his own terms—no vet visits, no strangers, no fear—just the family he loved surrounding him, exactly the way he would have wanted it.

Now, in my heart, I find comfort imagining him reunited with Havok, running together freely as they always did—best friends forever, back where they belong.

Indy taught us so much over the years: about patience, about joy, and about the unspoken bonds that define a family. He reminded us that love is steady, loyal, and unwavering, and that the best way to say goodbye is to celebrate the life lived, not to mourn the loss.

Goodbye, dear Indy. Thank you for twelve years of unconditional love, laughter, and companionship. You were more than just a dog—you were family. Now you and Havok are together again, free, happy, and unstoppable, just as you always were.

Forever our Indy. Forever in our hearts.