"Long before the kingdoms knew peace, there lived a small black wanderer whose legend stretched across three great cities..."

His name was Neo.

Named after the One who bent reality itself, Neo forged his own path through this world for 16 years and 15 days.

Born in Ohio and delivered to me by my sister, he made his first great journey to Chicago in the loving hands of my mother and her best friend. From there, he claimed Chicago, Detroit, and Dayton as his kingdoms.

Coal black from nose to tail, with eyes as dark as midnight and a mohawk fit for a warrior, he never met a stranger—only subjects he hadn't charmed yet.

He escaped more times than history can accurately record. Gates, fences, and leashes were merely suggestions. Many ransoms were paid to secure the return of the Realm's most notorious runaway. I once believed he always found his way home because of loyalty.

Eventually, I realized he found his way home because... that's where dinner was.

As a young pup, he leaped into the air with impossible height, as though gravity had sworn him no allegiance. He ruled the streets, collected admirers wherever he wandered, and somehow convinced everyone he met that they were already old friends.

To Grandma Susie, he was "Old Black Dog."

To Grandma Ann, he was "Negro."

To me, he was simply... home.

He wasn't the biggest. He wasn't the strongest.

But legends are rarely measured by size.

They are measured by the lives they touch, the joy they leave behind, and the silence that follows when they're gone.

Today, the realm is quieter.

The Black Wanderer has crossed into a kingdom where there are no fences, no leashes, endless streets to explore, and every path leads home.

Farewell, Sir Neo.

Your watch has ended.

❤2010–2026 ❤