K A V Y K

The silence—it’s always the silence that creeps in, filling the void with ghosts of what once was. Regret. Loss. The weight of all the things left unsaid. This time, though, it’s different. This time, God has brought me back to put a nail in the coffin to my past, the regret that lingered like a bad stench. In this final moment, it’s closure—not the kind that numbs the pain, but the kind that lets you know you’re ready to face it-the type to thrust you ahead.

Kavyk wasn’t just a dog. He was my constant in the storm. I named him after Wolverine—Kavyk, from the Eskimo word for wolverine. My dad got him from a friend, Cosmo. I was obsessed with the lone anti-hero back then, and that obsession became his name—only in Eskimo. When my siblings brought him home, barely two months old, we became inseparable from the moment he padded into my life.

From the start, I didn’t want to fail him like I had before with another dog. That regret, that pain of being too late when it mattered most, haunted me. So, I stayed home to keep him from any danger. I quit my job—the first of many reckless moves—but I had promised my mom that I wouldn’t burden her with Kavyk, something I did often in my youth. I became a stay-at-home dog dad, training him, growing with him. Together, we faced life head-on.

He was with me through it all—every fight, every heartbreak. The first tattoo I got was for him—brotherhood. My brother and I inked an American traditional tattoo of Kavyk on our calves, marking our bond to him, permanent. Because Kavyk wasn’t just a pet—he was the reminder of the bond I shared with my siblings, the home I once knew, the life I fought to hold onto.

We ran through the streets, Kavyk and me, trying to find stability in a world—the MMA world—that left me bruised and broken. Kavyk was there, as my anchor. Even when I had nothing, no home, no steady income, there he was. We lived out of my truck, sometimes in gyms where I begged the owner to let me crash. It didn’t matter where I was—as long as Kavyk was with me, I had some semblance of home.

In 2017, life unraveled faster than I keep up. I bounced from job to job, trained, failed relationships, burned bridges. I hopped from couch to couch, gym to truck, always with Kavyk by my side. But I was a sinking ship. I couldn’t bear to fail him, but the reality hit me like a cold wave. The world I wanted to give him wasn’t something I offer.

One morning at Seal Beach, the California sun was shining, the waves crashing in the background. A picture-perfect scene. But inside, I was torn. I’d met a family through a man I trained with, and his stepmom offered me a place to stay in her toy store. The catch? No dogs. They’d watch Kavyk while I got on my feet. I fought the idea, but that morning on the beach, I felt the tug to do right by him. As I sat there, Kavyk played with other dogs, unaware. I squinted my eyes to see him from a distance. It was hard.

I had no other options. Living out of my truck, crashing at gyms—this wasn’t a life for him. So I made the call. I dropped him off at their house on the hill in La Habra, the deal sealed with the sound of the gate locking behind me. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. But that day, sitting in my truck with tears streaming down my face, I realized just how deep I had sunk. Kavyk deserved better. And I had nothing left to give.

Not long after, I hit rock bottom—literally. A heart surgery later, 2018, and I was forced to confront my life, or what was left of it. I thought that was it. I thought I’d never see Kavyk again. But God had a different plan. He always does.

Somehow, life aligned. A woman reached out to me—she knew who had Kavyk. I was grateful, beyond words. My wife, and I talked about it, and I realized just how much of a gift this was. They didn’t owe me anything, but they let me in. They let me see him one last time. He has cancer. But in those final moments, it wasn’t about the past, the regrets, or the mistakes. It was about gratitude. For everything Kavyk had been. For everything he represented in my life.

We made it—both of us. He had a family, and so did I.

Kavyk, my best friend. In his eyes, I see the journey that’s brought me here, my failures with him has made me into a man I am today, where I was broke, alone, and purposeless, I became a husband, another dog dad, and most importantly a dad to my son. I am glad to hear how Kavyk touched the hearts of others in my absence. In many ways, my selfishness brought me to the end of myself. Molded me into a man I am today because of the failures I had toward my dog, realizing I needed to be responsible and take care of others first. That’s what this entire experience was about — and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I can say it was Kavyk all day, but God had His hand behind everything. Which goes to show me, when I worry even about my health, I am reminded if God even cares for Kavyk and provides food and water for wild animals. How much more does He care about us?

As I close this final chapter, I find myself fortunate, in a way I didn’t expect. Kavyk’s new owner didn’t have to reach out, but he did. Not only that, he encouraged me to come see him one last time. This time in California feels less like a cruel reminder of past mistakes and more like liberation—a second chance to make peace with what once was. Seeing Kavyk again shook me to my core, dredging up memories, moments, and emotions I thought I’d buried. I found myself questioning: Am I overreacting? What is the moral of our story?

Well, wherever you are, whatever you’re going through, remember this—whether you believe in God or not, He is for you. He watches over us, cares for us, even as we sit in the pit of our worries. As I look at these pictures, seeing my old friend in his twilight years, I’m reminded: we all age, we all pass on. But if there’s hope in an everlasting God, the one who created us and set everything in motion, why not trust in Him? Why not put our faith in the One who brings things to pass?

Kavyk was part of my journey, but Jesus saved my soul. And He used Kavyk to level me up as a man because He knew Gideon was coming. As it says in Isaiah 46:4, “Even to your old age and gray hairs I am He, I am He who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.”

With that, I know that while our time has ended, Kavyk’s legacy will stay with me forever. I’ll share this story with my kids and, with tears of joy, tell my best friend, “We’re not alone anymore, buddy. We survived. We have a home.”