Fuse wasn't just a dog.
It was presence, character, pure loyalty, as the owner used to say - pure innocence.
A companion for all hours, with explosive energy and quiet tenderness.
His name fit who he had always been, he ran like a lit fuse, fired up, full of life until he collapsed with exhaustion, his body warm and his heart content.
I was his Master, and he was the dog of the house for everyone.
It followed its owner like a faithful shadow. It never left her alone, not even for an instant. She would seek her lap and sleep at her feet.
With the youngest of the family, he indulged in exaggerations without asking for consent: he would climb onto the sofa and into bed with the air of someone who knows he's breaking the rules, but he trusted that love would always forgive him everything.
He ran away from home whenever he could to play with the children in the park.
He snored loudly, like someone who wants to be noticed even in his sleep, and had a rare characteristic: he never looked away.
He looked at us - he looked at me - with tenderness, truth and soul. I wanted to know what was on his mind.
That's what struck me on his last day, for the first time, Fuse turned his eyes away from mine.
I even remarked to his owner, strangely and pained, when we saw him for the last time on the day of his departure.
Maybe it was his way of saying goodbye to us.
He was exhausted, tired - but still always aware of what was going on around him.
Today, the house is different.
Silence weighs more.
But it leaves a trace of everything that the Fuse was:
Companion. Accomplice. Rebellious. Loving. Guardian of those he loved the most.
Rest, my dog and friend.
Your gaze remained.
And your absence will never erase the place you occupy in us.
