Skylar's Goodbye

Skylar’s Goodbye

I met Skylar (aka Sky) on a warm afternoon in Nairobi. The kind of day where the sun kisses the ground and everything feels full of life. He was the tiniest of the litter — all golden fluff, oversized paws, and eyes that looked straight into my heart. When I crouched down, he wobbled toward me like he already knew I was his person. From that moment, I was.

He grew fast, as golden retriever pups tend to — all boundless energy and sloppy affection. My mornings began with his cold nose nudging my hand and ended with his head resting on my feet as I read scripture or watched TV. He became my companion, my shadow, my joy after long days spent doing God’s work.

We made a life together in Kenya. Whether I was working at my desk or entertaining guests, Skylar was there in the background of it all — chasing butterflies in the compound, playing with the neighbour kids, stealing my sandals, shoes or socks, greeting guests with a wagging tail and the gentle spirit only a golden retriever could carry.

When I received the call to continue my missionary service in South Africa, I was humbled and grateful. But my heart sank when I realized I might not be able to take Sky with me. I tried. God knows I tried. Paperwork, veterinary clearances, regulations, logistics — turned out to be more expensive and time consuming than I could have ever imagined. I began to understand: I had been given the gift of Skylar, but maybe only for a season.

The thought of letting him go felt impossible. But love sometimes means making the hardest choice. I prayed, a lot. Not just for peace in my decision, but for a family that would see Skylar the way I did — not just a dog, but a soul with love to give.

Eventually, I found them. A gentle couple with a quiet home. They met Sky before and would take great care of him when I had to travel for the ministry. When he saw them he ran straight to them, tail wagging, as if he understood before I did that they were meant for each other. I watched him play in their grass. He looked happy. He looked like he was home.

The day I handed over his leash, was a very emotional one, I scratched his head and whispered “Thank you, for everything.” He licked my hand once, I reminded him that he was a Christian dog and that he should behave himself at all times. He then turned to follow his new family. He didn’t look back. And somehow, that gave me peace.

Now in South Africa, I carry him in memory. When the nights get quiet and I feel far from everything familiar, I think of Skylar — running across a sunlit yard, tail flying, free and loved. I know he’s still bringing joy, still spreading light in his quiet way.

He was never just a dog. He was grace in golden fur. And for a time, he was mine.