…ok, so it's not a desk. It's probably a cell-phone, or maybe my laptop, but regardless, this is where you'll see me wrestle with thoughts, memories, and the questionability of societal norms.
In 2005 I decided to take a semester off from college. After starting before I’d even graduated high school, and attending through the summer each year, I’d had enough and even though I was six courses away from completing my bachelor’s degree, I simply needed a little break.
Unfortunately, that one semester turned into about 80 more, so after talking about going back for 21 years, I finally did it, and today was my first of school.
A few folks have asked, “why now?” That’s a fair question. The fact is, in spite of being a college dropout, I’ve enjoyed spending more than a decade in management in an industry where experience is often valued much more than a formal education. By all accounts, I’d consider it to be a success story- A kid who loved trains and got his start as a freight conductor was able to capitalize on his experiences to excel in management. Bravo.
But I didn’t come this far just to come this far.
After attending the recent “Rails to the Future” conference put on by Michigan State University’s Broad College of Business, one of the speakers made a point that resonated with me. She said, “In this industry, people often fail to communicate their career objectives, which stifles their growth potential.”
I ruminated on that thought for a while and realized the value of clearly explaining my goals to the people who could help me achieve them.
Individually, I spoke with my CEO and COO, and in true Dave Foster fashion, I explained the speaker’s point, and bluntly followed it with, “I want your job. Obviously not YOUR job, but I want to know what I need to do to align myself for an opportunity like that when it presents itself.”
Now, you have to keep in mind that I’m in a place where I truly feel more professionally supported than I ever have, so conversations like that feel comfortable to me, and I know they’re going to provide me with honest feedback, but they both provided me with similar messaging. Experience will get you where you are, but experience will only take you so far, and whether it’s right or not, a degree is what sets you apart from someone with a similar set of experiences.
Remember where I said that I feel more supported than I ever have in my career? Earlier this year, my CEO reached out to me and asked if I’d have any reservations about attending Michigan State University’s Railroad Management Certificate Program. The program is designed to expand the breadth of knowledge of any railroad manager by placing them in a large group of industry leaders to think collaboratively while being exposed to behind-the-scenes type experiences at various railroad and industry operations across the nation.
It may surprise some of you to know that I classify myself as an introvert. With that said, I try exceedingly hard to force whatever bit of extrovert I have within me to come out, so in understanding the honor it was for my executive leadership team to believe in me at this level, I humbly accepted the offer to attend.
I didn’t know what to expect, but after the first week of being surrounded with some of the most brilliant railroaders I’d ever had the pleasure to be in the company of, I felt inspired. That’s one thing I’ve learned in my career thus far- You can either be intimidated by people you perceive to be more talented than you, or you can be inspired by them. For me, understanding the necessity to always be better than I was yesterday, I will always choose the latter.
Here’s the kicker- while I was attending the program, Michigan State went on to announce that they were implementing a Masters of Business Administration degree with a Railway Management focus.
There was just one catch… that whole college dropout thing.
So here we are… August 24th, 2026, and I’m finishing what I started in May of 2002, and if I play my cards right, I’ll finally graduate in the spring… but I didn’t come this far just to get this far, so we’ll see what the next chapter holds.
Until then, I can sleep comfortably knowing that I’m showing my daughter the importance of finishing what you started.
I’ll bet the G-string keeps intonation better than mine does…
I’ve been a fan of Hard Rock Cafe ever since I set foot in the original location in London, England way back in 1995. I was 12 years old then, but now that I’m an adult (by age, not by maturity level), whenever I find myself near a location, I pop in to pick up a collectible pin from that particular location. Of course, with locations closing seemingly by the year, it’s becoming increasingly harder to locate them- Even my ‘hometown’ Detroit location shut its doors for good in 2019 after a fifteen-year run.
Never-the-less, as we pulled into Niagara, Ontario to admire the natural splendor of the Niagara Falls from the Canadian’s viewpoint, I spotted the iconic Gibson Les Paul silhouette that has become synonymous with Hard Rock Cafe restaurants.
“Oh, we’re stopping in there before we leave,” I proclaimed to those poor souls trapped within the Chevy Traverse I was piloting. They were, of course, good sports about it, but I guess it helps that it was my wife, daughter, father and cousin, and we were already full-tilt in adventure mode.
After basking in the cool mist of the falls from a couple of different vantage points, we took a few obligatory photos to prove we had been there- as if anyone would doubt such a claim and began the trek towards the Hard Rock Cafe’s gift shop. As I mentioned previously, this would afford me the opportunity to pay far too much money for a small piece of metal that was adorned with colorful enamel paint, just to bring it home, push it unceremoniously into a framed piece of corkboard in our home-office, unlikely to ever be seen by anyone other than my family, and our dogs. Oh well- YOLO, as the kids used to say.
Well this was lovely…
I browsed through the selection of collectible pins, and eventually settled on one that featured a small spinning Ferris wheel which was particularly satisfying to play with; I guess that’s likely a sign of undiagnosed ADHD, but who has time to get tested, anyways? I grabbed the pin and made my way to the counter where my daughter had joined in on the activity, selecting her own pin to commemorate our journey to the falls.
The cashier, upon inspecting our selections, made note that we were buying two of the same pins.
“Yep, like father like daughter, I guess- That’s actually why we’re in Canada in the first place; We’re going to see Rush tomorrow.”
Suddenly his demeanor seemed to shift, “That ain’t Rush.” he scoffed.
Making note of the confused look on my face, he briefly elaborated, his piercing blue eyes reiterating his sincerity, “No Neil. No Rush.”
“Ah, yeah- I get it,” as I began to defend my position to someone whose opinion I didn’t value in the first place- Why am I like this? “I had that same thought when they first announced the tour, but then I realized it was an opportunity to see Geddy and Alex together again, and that’s enough for me. I’m sure if they think Anika is suitable, then I’m sure she’ll be fine. Plus, this is my first opportunity to take my daughter, so it should be a good time.”
“Yeah. Tap your card here,” he stated curtly, obviously dismissing the value of my argument.
In my best Midwestern ‘kill him with kindness’ voice, I thanked him as he passed me the receipt, and he wished me well, and in spite of his personal feelings, he told us to enjoy the show, because even in their disapproval, it has been my experience that most Canadians are nothing if not polite, and that’s something that’s endeared them to me.
I mean, I also love their coffee (Tim Hortons), their beer (Labatt), their sport (hockey), and the greatest progressive rock band ever to grace the Earth, but who’s keeping track?
We left the comfortable shelter of the air-conditioned store to venture back into the August humidity that closely aligned Ontario with what we’re familiar with in Michigan- Thick air and sweat-soaked hats season.
Our next stop would be the town that Neil grew up in, St. Catharines, Ontario, where we’d visit the Neil Peart Pavilion at Lakeside Park in Port Dalhousie. The Pavilion, obviously named in Neil’s honor, was erected after the famed drummer, lyricist, author, and- most importantly- father and husband, passed following his battle with Glioblastoma, an aggressive brain tumor that carries an average lifespan of 15-months after diagnosis. I always found it to be a cruel and unfair end to the life of a man who was so brilliant and insightful- He was, by all accounts, extremely well read, and exceedingly well spoken.
As a testament to the lyrics penned by Neil in the Rush song “Lakeside Park” in which he nostalgically recounts attending the park through his youth, upon our arrival the pavilion was filled with live music-a funk reggae type band, and various vendors offering libations for sale, but we were on a mission.
Of the five of us, my dad, Matt (my cousin) and I were the Rush fans- Don’t get me wrong, my wife listens (because she has to) and my daughter is, and has been, developing a taste for the prog rock icons, but the three of us are the ones who have been following for decades, or in my dad’s case, since he first saw them in 1977. (He actually pleaded with my mother to name me Neil, but lost out to her wishes for me to be named after my uncle, instead)
What a beauty, eh?
Over the past decade or so, the three of us have spent countless hours sharing laughs and listening to the entire catalog of Rush while we battle one another in a card-game known as cribbage. The game, which has opponents peg their points on a board known as a “Cribbage Board” until the winner achieves 121 points, originated in England in the 1600’s, and has been depicted in the works of English author Charles Dickens. Although the game is fairly prevalent in the American Midwest, in my travels, it seems to be an obscure oddity in much of the United States, although in a recent trip to Hawaii, I did spot an exceptionally beautiful cribbage board crafted from Koa, and there are a few examples of cribbage boards drilled into shotgun stocks at the World War 1 Museum in Kansas City, Missouri.
I mention those two boards to segue into this- Many cribbage players fail to remain content with a run-of-the-mill store-bought cribbage board, and we’re no different. In fact, Matt had a custom circular board crafted to honor our favorite band which included the bold RUSH nameplate found on their 1974 debut album, as well as the iconic Starman logo that became synonymous with their album 2112, in which the band took a defiant stance against their record label, responding to demands for radio-friendly content with a twenty-minute-thirty-three-second epic that paralleled the dystopian novella “Anthem” that had been penned by controversial individualist Ayn Rand. As an added touch, even the pegs used to keep score were custom made to represent the band’s nicknames for one another, Dirk (Geddy), Lerxst (Alex) and Pratt (Neil).
Our mission was simple- Convene a meeting of the “Crib Club” at the Neil Peart Pavilion and play a game of cribbage on the Rush board. The board- and our attire- garnered much attention from fellow Rush fans who were in town for the shows and had a similar idea to visit the pavilion- One pleasant couple that we spoke with at length had traveled all the way from Germany. In spite of nature’s best efforts to the contrary, the wind from a squall warning could not deter us, and although we had to pick up our cards a few times, I am happy to report that I won the match. Take THAT, gentlemen.
David 1: Those Suckas: 0
Upon taking in the beautiful view of Lake Ontario, and scanning for other things mentioned within the song, we retreated to the vehicle to make our way towards downtown Toronto where we’d spend the evening playing cards while waiting for the countdown on Matt’s phone that began on October 17th 2025 to change from “1 DAY UNTIL RUSH” to zero. We were so close, we could feel it…
The following day, we stood in line outside Scotiabank Arena chatting with fellow fans and anxiously awaiting the doors to open. At 630PM, right on schedule, we began to file in, one-by-one, and right on schedule, the lines for tour merchandise began to grow as fans looked to memorialize their attendance through hats, shirts, and other swag that proudly stated to anyone unwilling to attend- I WAS THERE! Take THAT Hard Rock Cafe guy!
Rush has become a family affair
While I’d often find myself in the first ten rows, your budget determines your seating, and when you’re purchasing tickets for the whole family, that budget gets split three-ways, so we took our place in the second row of the upper bowl, which I was amazed to find was an exceptional vantage point of the stage- Alex’s side, or Stage Right. As I watched fans file into the floor seats, I was mildly envious, but I also knew I was introducing my wife and daughter to Rush in a way they had never experienced before, and that quelled any true FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) I may have had.
With my family’s $1,014 CAD bag of Rush merch at my feet, and a capless bottle of Coke Zero (you know, for security), we waited for the show the start, and then- It did.
Now, here’s the thing- As much as I somewhat villainize the Hard Rock Cafe guy, I empathized. In fact, when Rush had announced they’d be touring again, I felt exceptionally torn. I grew up on Rush, and I loved Neil. When news broke that he had passed, I was devastated. I’m not ashamed to admit that I wept, and every now and again, when I think about my own daughter, and that Neil’s daughter Olivia must navigate this world without her father, it’s hard not to become emotional. After relishing in the brilliance of Rush’s R40 tour, in which they cleverly established a set-list that took them back in time through their catalog as their gear and stage set-up would cascade backwards through the years with the songs, I held out some level of hope that they’d put out a new album, and perhaps we’d get another tour. After all, the backdrop following the show said, “R40+?” which called into question whether or not this really was the end of the road for the band.
Of course, it wasn’t until after Neil had passed when Geddy’s legendary book “My Effin Life” hit shelves that we fans got a true look at the conclusion of that tour, in which Neil walked off the stage, away from his bandmates, and closed the door on that chapter of his life. He had decided that he no longer wished to be “The Professor,” instead trading that title for “The Librarian” at his daughter’s school, and after giving us fans 40 plus years of legendary works, who could blame the guy for wanting to just be a father, and a husband? After all, he’d held both of those titles before and had them cruelly and brutally stripped away.
Then came the initial reports that Geddy and Alex were playing together again.
“Oh cool!” I thought. “Maybe they’ll release some new tracks, or something… maybe with a drum machine- After all, they always said they couldn’t see themselves touring as Rush again without Neil.”
Then came the announcement that very few of us were prepared for- First it was the mere announcement that they’d be touring again, but that raised more questions than answers- Chief among them was the obvious; Who would fill the vast void left by Neil’s passing? Dave Grohl? Mike Portnoy? Some other professional wild card? Perhaps a selection of drummers, each playing a few songs here and there?
As someone who has been playing for forty years, and spent some time working in a drum shop, I’ve always considered myself pretty well versed on not only drum gear, but also on drummers, so when the name Anika Nilles began to fill my facebook feed as Geddy and Alex’s selection, I’m slightly ashamed to admit that my initial response was, “Who?!”
3 Generations of Rush fans
Don’t get me wrong, I took to google and immediately began to familiarize myself with the German drumming phenom, and I was impressed with what I saw, but- Rush? Neil? I wasn’t convinced, and initially I was fairly content with the R40 experience having been the one I’d remember them for, but… also… Geddy… Alex…
Matt and my dad were excited about the announcement, and that sealed the deal. I had to go. WE had to go, and if Anika was good enough for Geddy and Alex, we owed her the opportunity to prove them right. With that said, I wanted to approach this opportunity to see Rush again with an open mind, so I’d intentionally avoided any interviews, videos, set-lists or internet hype regarding the tour dates leading up to this one. I wanted to remain objective, and unencumbered by the confirmation bias that could easily creep in if I allowed other people’s opinions to pre-determine my own disposition.
I didn’t have Emma singing along to “Animate” on my 2026 Bingo Card
As the show began, while I sat in Section 310, Row 2, Seat 17, I knew I was experiencing something I never thought I’d get to experience again, let alone being able to share it with my wife, or my daughter (who was a mere one-year-of-age at the time of the R40 tour). It was hard not to feel overcome with emotion.
For the next nearly four hours, I watched as my daughter laughed along with the comedy in the introduction video that opened the show, and I beamed with pride when I caught her singing along to Animate, because only a Rush fan knows the catalog beyond the radio hits like Tom Sawyer or Spirit of Radio. When the intermission clock reached zero, and immediately began counting back up, I was amazed as she picked up on the foreshadowing and shouted “2112!” as she realized what was coming next, but the part that I loved the most was watching her watching Anika all night long.
The thing is, my daughter knows how much Neil meant to me. She saw the tears when he passed. She hears how I speak of him, and how my own father speaks of him, and how those around us speak of him- He was one of a kind. But last night, Emma watched a girl, just like her, who was able to sit behind Geddy and Alex and deliver an absolutely monstrous performance that captivated 20,000 hardcore Rush fans, leaving us all begging for more.
Xanadu- With the dooblanecks… er… doublenecks…
After the show I told her- You can do that. You just have to believe, and practice your ass off, but you can do that.
Still, I’ve seen the comments, “Neil isn’t there,” or “It’s not the same without Neil.”
However, I disagree. Neil was there. In nearly every word that Geddy sang, Neil was there- His hand penned most of those lyrics. In every perfectly executed drum-fill, Neil was there, much the same as a beautiful pianist can recreate the works of famed composers, Neil’s works were brought back to life by Anika, and even though some were reimagined in her own style, that’s ok. The truth is, I think if she were trying to match each and every fill, cymbal crash, or rhythm exactly as Neil did, that’s when it would feel insincere. She wasn’t trying to be Neil- She was and is Anika Nilles, and she helped perform the works of Neil Peart to ensure old fans can continue to enjoy them while new fans continue to discover them, and that is a tribute that far exceeds the touching videos and dedications that were so tastefully incorporated into the show last night.
It’s 2026 and I got to experience Rush with the people I love. Long live Neil Peart. Long live Rush.
I’ll never forget sitting in the back of the bus on my way to school and hearing those first few bars of Kryptonite through my Sony headphones for the first time as I listened along to my local hard-rock radio station, “WWBN, Tuscola, Flint, Saginaw… Flint’s Rock Radio, Banana 101.5!”
Something about the guitar tone, the snare centric drum beat and the composition of the song made it feel like a comfortable, worn in pair of blue jeans. It was new, but it felt vintage, raw and unique in an era when the first battles of the Loudness Wars were bubbling to the surface (The loudness wars were an era where sound engineers were pushing the boundaries of just how loud they could produce songs without distorting- The louder the song, the more it would stand out against the competition). I was hooked, and after I snatched up “The Better Life,” which was 3 Doors Down’s debut offering, I instantly became a fan. That album, which was released 26 years ago today (8 February 2000), felt like an absolute masterpiece from start-to-finish, and it became the soundtrack to my Summer in 2000, and well into my Junior year of High School.
In fact, if memory serves me correctly, a burned copy of the album made its way into my buddy Patrick’s “Black Rose Metallic” (it was purple and you can’t convince me otherwise) Chevrolet Beretta Z26 and didn’t leave the CD player for a solid year or two.
…and I don’t blame him, because it felt like each song on that album would find a mood to accompany- In my moments of shy, introverted insecurity, “Loser” would stand out, while “So I Need You” would punctuate those adolescent feelings of infatuation and “Be Like That” would elicit the deep rooted desires to achieve my dream of becoming a rockstar, and how it felt to be on the outside looking in.
As I began my foray into attempting to add the title of “guitar player” to my resume, my folks purchased the guitar sheet-music book for me, and I remember sitting in the grass in my parent’s backyard as I learned to play through the various tracks, with “Loser” holding the distinction of being the first song I’d ever learn to play from start to finish.
The more I’d learn about the band as years would pass, one of the things I found the most impressive was that singer Brad Arnold had actually recorded the drums on the album, which I always felt was a true testament to his musicianship. (Daniel Adair and Greg Upchurch, both extremely talented drummers in their own right, would take over subsequent drumming duties)
I continued my fandom through their subsequent album releases, and I loved to see their close ties to Dale Earnhardt Jr. (my favorite NASCAR driver following the death of Dale Earnhardt Sr.), and various veteran oriented charities, but I was elated that, after battles with addiction, Brad had finally come out on top, embracing sobriety in 2016…
Sadly, as has been reported on the official 3 Doors Down social media accounts, Brad Arnold passed away yesterday at the age of 47 after a battle with cancer.
It’s been said that you die twice- Once when your soul physically leave this earth, and once when people no longer speak your name, but the thing about “making it” as a musician is that even once you leave this earth, you still leave behind a legacy for people to enjoy and celebrate, and if you did it right- You just might live forever.
The familiar smell that seems to accompany all Post Offices permeated the air as I stood at the counter of our local branch with my wife and daughter as we worked through our passport applications, and, in my case, a renewal. The postman behind the counter assisted my wife, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an older gentlemen enter the queue, and eventually make his way to the adjacent window in which he was assisted by a postwoman in what I over-heard to be his own quest for a passport renewal.
Turning to get a better look, I recognized him immediately.
“Well,” the postman began, snapping me back to the task at hand, “two of the three sets of pictures turned out alright, but one set was blurry, so we’ll need to take yours again,” he stated as he gestured towards my daughter before walking through a door that led to the Post Office lobby where the photos were to be taken.
Turning to me, my wife inquired, “Well, do you want to go with her, or stay here with the paperwork?”
I elected the former, and we made our way into the lobby where a make-shift backdrop was positioned behind a stool to allow the dull, personality muting passport photos to be taken.
While becoming lost in the surroundings as the postman made adjustments to his camera, I noticed a plaque on the wall that celebrated this building having been erected in 1986, with names of the sitting notable positions of the day, like President Ronald Reagen, as well as the Postmaster General, whose name eludes me at the moment.
As the postman wrapped up a much clearer, more acceptable image, I noticed the older man I’d observed previously walking towards the exit.
In that moment, I had two options. Either I allowed him to leave and I’d miss an opportunity, risking a very real potential that I may never see him again (let’s be real, none of us are getting any younger), or I intercept, and engage him in a discussion.
Anyone that knows me already knows that I chose the latter. I’m not a big fan of regrets.
“Mr. Moreland!” I exclaimed as he walked through the first set of glass doors that brought him into the lobby we’d be standing in.
As a bemused look crossed his face, I outstretched my hand, and continued, “Dave Foster! I was a percussionist in your classes many years ago. You were my first band instructor.”
“Dave!” he acknowledged, gripping my hand.
I appreciated the pleasantry, although I was fairly certain that my face, and name, were both likely lost in a sea of thousands of students he’d had over his several decades of teaching. With my classmates bringing up the tail end of his career, I didn’t expect that his mental hard-drive would be able to quickly access such information, but he powered on, simply knowing that I remembered him, and that it didn’t necessarily matter if he remembered me.
“What are you up to these days?” he asked.
I informed him that I’d become a railroader and held several positions ranging from Freight Conductor to Locomotive Engineer, and then made my way into management as a Trainmaster, and now a Manager of Safety and Training, I was sure to let him know that I’d continued my time on the Drumline and as a percussionist all throughout high school, and I proudly beamed that I’d spent a lot of time in a hard rock band, and that I still play to this day.
After admitting that he’d never delved into learning how to play a drum-kit due to being unable to afford one when he was younger, in spite of the prodding of his friends who believed it would be easy enough to buy his own “after a few gigs,” I shifted the conversation, introducing my daughter. I then informed him that she, too, had an interest in music as she passively dabbles with a guitar and drum-set of her own.
They passed a few words, with my daughter displaying her shyness, and eventually, identifying the subtle awkwardness that exists in a 10-year-old child, I sought an opportunity to get to the point that led me to disrupt the flow of Mr. Moreland’s day.
“Alright, so I remember in 7th or 8th grade, you had composed an original piece that we performed. I think it was called ‘Echoes From The Dragon’s Lair’. Did you ever get a recording of that? I’d love to have it…” I began.
“Ah! Yes! It was actually called ‘Sounds From the Dragon’s Cave!'” he exclaimed, as his posture straightened, and his face was illuminated with pride. “Unfortunately, we never recorded it, or produced it- It wasn’t very technically complicated, it was just a simple composition that was meant to help younger musicians learn to play together as a group.”
“Well, I just wanted you to know that- what, 30 years later? However long it’s been, I still remember that piece, and it touched me enough that I’ve thought of it for all these years.”
I saw tears form in his eyes, and his voice trembled as he said, “Well, thank you Dave. I don’t think you know exactly how much that means to me…”
He paused, then continued, “…you know, you’d never know this, but today has been a pretty rough day for me, and that just completely made my day. I… thank you.”
“No, thank you… and if you ever do something with that piece, please, let me know.”
He took down my phone number, and before shaking my hand again to go our separate ways, he looked to my daughter and said, “You know, Mrs. Murdock probably has a copy of Sounds From the Dragon’s Cave, so when you get to her class, make sure you ask her about it.”
He shook my hand, and we parted ways, both of us wearing smiles from the encounter.
After we completed our business, and the applications were mailed, we stepped through the glass doors that lead to the parking lot, and I turned to my daughter and asked her what she’d learned.
“Well… I learned that he was your first band teacher,” she said innocently.
“Well, you’re not wrong, but what I’d hoped you’d learned was that you never know what kind of a day someone is having, and sometimes, just saying something kind to them can change everything, so if you ever have something kind to say to someone- Make sure you do.”
When I married your mom, I wasn’t a dog person, but she was a package deal, and with her, I became the caregiver for her hound dog, Jake. He was a squirrely rescue that had all the signs of having been abused as he was timid and untrusting of males until you earned it. Unfortunately for us, at the age of six, Jake began defecating and urinating within the home, and what we believed were behavioral issues resulted in the veterinarian diagnosing him with acute liver failure.
Although his mannerisms towards me made him, at times, difficult to deal with, his jaundiced eyes belied the youthful exuberance that existed in a body that had failed him far too soon, and even I, the lover of cats, and someone that claimed not to be a dog person, was heartbroken.
I held him until he passed, and cried as I gasped for air. It was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do, and I struggled to come to terms with it for weeks.
Then came a newspaper article about a litter of German Shepradors about 30 miles away, and your mom was adamant that we “check it out.”
“Grab money,” I told her, “I know me, and if I fall in love with one, I’m going to want to bring it home.”
When we arrived, there were two dogs left; You, and your brother. In retrospect, one of the greatest regrets in my life is that I didn’t adopt both of you that day, but I went with my gut instincts, and you have become the greatest dog I’ll ever have.
Although it felt much too soon after Jake’s passing to bring home another dog, I couldn’t believe how you were able to heal our broken hearts in a way that I’ve learned only a dog can.
Eventually came your sister, the tiny human, and eventually your chocolate lab brother, the lovable idiot that we tend to think you still believe is a practical joke, although you’ve embraced him, even if you obviously find him annoying.
Through career changes, familial evolutions, accomplishments, a global pandemic, ($12,000 in surgeries for your cranial c and countless losses, you’ve been our faithful companion, loyal provider of kisses, and occupier of foot-space on the bed, resulting in us sleeping with our knees in our chest, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Now that you’re 11, not a day goes by that I don’t think about the inevitable day that sees you leave this world, and no matter how much I may know that, when that day comes, it’s time for you to go, I’ll never be ok with it. You’ve been here for so many chapters in our lives, that it’s hard to imagine writing any without you.
Someday, we’ll have plenty of leg room, our wood floors won’t feature muddy paw prints, nor will they be littered with tufts of white hair that we affectionally refer to as “Harley Glitter” or “Tumble Harleys,” but I’d much rather have all of those small mementos than lose you.
So just know, that with every treat, and every belly rub, and every moment I spend with you, you’re often one of the best parts of my days, and although someday you will be gone from my life, you will live forever in my heart, and in my memories.
Until then, let’s enjoy each and every moment we have together… I love you, buddy.
From the desk of Dave Foster 