He was born inside the warmth of home, and he never once left it — not truly. Gunner Drew Holloway arrived into this world already beloved, already held, already exactly where he was meant to be.
They called him G, G-Man, Gunner Man, *The Baby Dog* — and every name fit like a soft blanket pulled close. He was a labahoula boy with a puppy face that never quite grew up, and a personality so vivid and full it could fill every room he entered.
He made sure you knew he was there. That was his gift — a loud, joyful, utterly irresistible insistence on being loved and loving back, with nothing held in reserve.
Some of what made Gunner impossible to forget:
- The way he settled into his favorite recliner like it was built just for him, king of all he surveyed
- His boundless, whole-body joy when a tennis ball was in play — excitement that never once grew old
- The ease with which he loved strangers, because to him, there was no such thing
- Swimming in whatever water he could find, ears floating, heart completely full
He came into this world surrounded by the people who loved him most, and he left the very same way. There is something sacred in that. A life begun and ended in the arms of home.
His momma, his daddy — human and fur alike — carry him now in the tender, aching place where great love lives after loss.
*Gunner Man, you were never just a dog — you were the whole heart of home.*