In 2008, we welcomed our first Great Dane puppy — Tiernan. We were inexperienced and excited, and in our eagerness, we purchased him from a backyard breeder. We paid for that decision dearly.

Before we even brought him home, he had already been diagnosed with demodectic mange and weighed just 13 lbs — a sobering number when you consider that our current Great Dane weighed 25 lbs at the same age. In his first year of life, Tiernan saw the vet 63 times. He was allergic to nearly everything, required a strict vegetarian diet, and would break out in enormous hives from a single mosquito bite. The odds were stacked against him from the very beginning.

But there were moments of pure, breathtaking joy.

At just five months old, we took him to Yellowstone. We were at our campsite making dinner when Tiernan started barking — urgently, insistently. We turned to quiet him and found ourselves face to face with a herd of bison moving slowly and deliberately right through our site. He had been trying to warn us the whole time. It was one of those moments that stays with you forever.

Despite everything his body put him through, Tiernan’s spirit was untouchable. At the dog park — which we visited nearly every day — he would sit perfectly still each time a stranger approached, waiting patiently and hopefully for them to pet him. If they walked past without stopping, the look on his face was nothing short of heartbreaking. He wanted nothing more than to be loved by everyone he met. At seven months old, we adopted a nine-month-old Great Dane × Labrador mix, and the two became inseparable from the moment they met — joyful, mischievous, and absolutely devoted to one another.

On Boxing Day 2011, at only three years old, Tiernan became suddenly and gravely ill — fever, vomiting, rapid decline. At the emergency vet, he was quickly diagnosed with aspiration pneumonia. He was admitted, started on antibiotics, and placed on oxygen. Within 18 hours, we had to make the most devastating decision of our lives.

Losing him so young, so unexpectedly, left a wound that doesn’t fully heal.

Every pet touches us in a way that is entirely their own. They are not replaceable. They take a piece.