He said it would only be for two weeks—a simple work trip to Berlin. “Just feed him, walk him, maybe scratch behind the ears if he’s being dramatic,” my brother said, dropping off Rocco, his loyal three-year-old Doberman.
At first, Rocco was fine. But by day three, he stopped eating. He barely moved and looked completely defeated. I tried everything—his favorite songs, familiar walking routes, even my brother’s hoodie—but nothing helped.
By day ten, I was desperate. I took him to the vet, who said Rocco was likely depressed from being separated from my brother. She explained that dogs can grieve deeply when their bond is strong.
With medication, routine, and more engagement, Rocco slowly began to improve. Then, my brother finally called. When I told him what was happening, he admitted he hadn’t realized the impact his absence would have. He promised to come home early.
I told Rocco his person was coming back. He didn’t fully bounce back right away, but there was a shift—he started to hope.
When my brother returned, Rocco lit up—tail wagging, energy restored. It was clear: nothing could replace that bond. I couldn’t be my brother, but I had helped bridge the gap until he returned.
Sometimes, the best thing we can do is support, not replace—and know when love means stepping back.