Hey,
Quite urgent... I got to reach you out buddy, sorry it took me so long to get back to you.
Take care, Tomy
/the guy always on your side, ALWAYS
God bless you guys, IT'S REALLY WORTH...
P.S. TERMS & CONDITIONS
REAL TALK....
I didn’t fully understand freedom until I moved out to the countryside…
Not the loud kind of freedom people post on Instagram — the rented cars, the palm trees, the big declarations.
But the quiet kind.
The kind that sneaks up on you when the morning mist sits low on the fields and you realise you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
And honestly… a lot of that came from my dog.
He wasn’t just “a dog.”
He was the presence in the house — the heartbeat behind every quiet room and the shadow that followed me from the kitchen to the back porch.
It was almost funny how a house that looked big and empty from the outside suddenly felt alive the moment his paws clicked against the wooden floor.
Our place out there was nothing fancy.
Old beams, slightly crooked doors, a roof that complained every winter.
But there was a big yard, endless fields behind it, and a quiet that wrapped itself around your shoulders like a warm blanket.
And my dog — he treated that land as if he owned every square meter of it.
In the mornings he’d trot out ahead of me, tail already up, as if he had serious business to attend to.
Somewhere in those tall grasses he found more purpose than most people ever find in a lifetime.
I used to laugh watching him — sprinting, stopping, sniffing, circling back to check on me, then sprinting again.
He moved like he believed the whole world had been created just for him to explore.
And maybe that’s when I started feeling free too.
Because when you watch a creature live with that level of trust — trusting the land, trusting you, trusting the moment — something inside you loosens.
All the stress you carry…
all the things you think you “should” be doing…
they shrink when you see someone so small living so completely.
Afternoons were the best.
Sun spilling over the fields.
Him stretched out on the warm boards of the deck, eyes half-closed, ears twitching whenever I said his name.
Sometimes I’d sit beside him, back against the wall, and it felt like the world finally stopped spinning so fast.
People talk about freedom like it’s a destination — something you chase until it’s finally yours.
But that dog taught me it’s just a way of living.
A decision to breathe a little deeper…
To slow down long enough to hear the wind in the trees…
To trust that nothing terrible is going to happen if you sit still for a minute.
He made that old countryside house feel like a world I didn’t need to escape from.
And even now — when the house is quieter, and the land feels bigger than before — his presence is still everywhere.
In the corner where he used to sleep.
In the path he wore through the tall grass.
In the soft freedom he carved into my days without ever saying a single word.
Funny how a dog can do that.
Funny how a creature that asks for nothing gives you everything.
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