In the last week of my life, I hope that my front door sees a steady parade of people who love me and, knowing that I don’t have much time left, they show up bearing cheeseburgers and chicken nuggets and hugs and kisses and tears dripping with love, none of which I can see.

I hope that someone takes me to the park every sunny day that week and helps me run like the wind a few last times. And I hope you love the smile it puts on my face. Don’t look too hard at my teeth though. They’ve seen better days.

I hope I get to go on a long drive to the cottage that week, to sit by the river one more time with you. I never did like swimming in it much. There are weird things in there. But I always so loved just being there, in that place — in that moment — with you.

As the last week goes on, I hope we can have a few laughs about our memories. About how I was the best singer you’ve ever known. And how I sang every chance I got, my whole life. I won’t sing you ‘Happy Birthday’ ever again, but I hope you’ll never forget the time I did.

I hope you remember whatever little adventures we had together and spend some time telling them back to me that last week. And I hope you remind me about my ‘home alone’ adventures before my memory is gone. I guess you’re never getting back those underwear/chocolate bars/pot cookies/whatever other household items come to mind here. Sorry about that.

I hope that the last week of my life – and, of knowing what I do not – isn’t too hard on you. That while I may not be able to hear you crying or see your tears anymore — my loving heart doesn’t want yours to be sad for me. I plan to put a smile on for you every day that I still can.

I hope you don’t second-guess anything about our time together. Most of all, what is happening to me now— because I’m old and its soon time to leave my failing body behind. My daily smiles will encourage your doubt about the state of my health that last week, but don’t doubt the truth. They’re simply the sum total of my love for you all these years expressed on my face – the last thing I can give back to you after all that you’ve given to me.

I hope that when you think of me after I’m gone, that you always think of me smiling. And maybe wearing my favourite sweater. You know the one.

In the last week of my life, I hope that you and I have nothing much left to say to one another because not a day went by when we were together, all those years, that I didn’t hear how about how much you love me, or how good I am. Because you told me — forehead to furry brow — so often.

I hope that on the last day of my life, one of you — maybe one of you who loved me most or one of you who didn’t expect to ever have the joy of me in your life — walks home from work early and sits down to write a little something about what I meant to you. It’ll hurt less if you do. (I’m lying a little bit here. It will be awful. But do it anyway. Words are my love language.)

In my last hour, I hope your tears are not dripping into your lap as you keep vigil with the clock, knowing that it’s the last hour of a life that was always going to be too short for you and I. We always knew this day would come. Of course, we were still unprepared. But we knew.

Listen, I hope you take me through the drive-thru one last time. Snacks are my love language.

I hope you ask your tribe in heaven to come and meet me when I get there.

I hope you ask me to send you signs and that you believe in them when I do. That big double rainbow at the end of the driveway the night I left? It was the best way I could think of to send my love and gratitude back to you for the life we had – and to let you know that I made it to The Bridge okay – as healthy and alive as I have ever been.

I hope you know I can hear you now. That I will always come whenever you call.

I hope you know that I loved you every day.

And I hope you know that I never cared what kind of house we lived in. Or what kind of car we drove. Or if you had money in the bank. I never understood politics or why people care about them, or who you love. I loved everyone.

Especially you – the ones I gave my whole heart to – I hope you know that you were all of everything to me.

I can only hope that the last week of my life plays out just like Fudge’s did. We should all be so lucky. To have such a celebratory final week with those we love. Just a little time at the end to say and do what we don’t always get around to, or feel comfortable to, on all the other days when we think we still have time. A long enough good-bye for each of us, so we can all walk out of this place wrapped in the absolute knowing that we’ve done the best we could, and that it was enough. That we were so loved and so wanted every single day of our lives.

Fudge knew. And after a week and a half of the best good-byes a guy could ask for, he shed his earthly body around 4 p.m. on Wednesday afternoon. There is no place that his absence doesn’t touch.

People say that what makes the love of a dog so special is that it’s so wildly, beautifully, perfectly unconditional. But I think Fudge taught us that love, in truth, doesn’t need any of those adjectives. It doesn’t require modifiers. It doesn’t require unconditionality. Or perfection. It just asks you to show up and do your best.

Every single day, Fudge showed up and did his best. For 16 glorious, tail-wagging years, he gave a master class in everyday love and loyalty. He managed to make living with joy in the present moment seem like some kind of ordinary magic. He knew something about the art of unqualified love. How to give it. And how to accept it. He was a simple guy. And it was a pretty simple equation – if you gave him your heart, he’d give you his.

Fudge knew the secret to a good life.

And now, we do too.