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The pain is still too raw, my emotions are still jumbled up.

We lost Bernie this morning.

But I do not want to talk about his last few days, I cannot really visit those days right now.

Instead, I want to talk about his life.

Bernie was one of those dogs that you just could not help but love.

He was the first born, but the last one to walk on his own. He loved the security of his box and was in no hurry to leave.

It said a lot about his life, since he was a professional couch potato.

He usually would have to be coaxed to leave the comfy spot on the couch to go outside. Especially if it was too hot.

Or too cold.

Or too wet.

Well, if it were too anything.

He loved his comfy couch.

But he could be bad. He and Bill would get out and run the neighborhood, much like Robin Hood and Little John. They were brothers in every sense of the word.

He loved to sing as well.

My wife would start singing and before long, Roswell, Bill, and Bernie would be howling at the top of their lungs along with her.

Bernie also loved to be loved. He never turned down a cuddle or a pet.

He seemed to know when you needed to be loved and would make himself available.

I am not spiritual or religious by any stretch of the imagination. I often use a phrase from a Sting song, “I keep the faith in my own fashion.”

So, I have my doubts about the existence of angels.

But if angels exist, they have four legs and fur.

A dog will love you unconditionally. A dog will put that love before their needs. A dog will be there just because you are. They give us their lives, their everything, all in exchange for a few loving pets, and a few scraps of our time.

Bernie filled a spot in my heart that I didn’t know needed to be filled. And right now, that part is broken.

Angels do exist. They have fur and four legs.

Michael Cole is a syndicated columnist that when he is not writing, he is plotting global domination. You can follow him at www.storyoveracup.com