Goodbye to My Best Friend

Paying Tribute to Rigatoni

Today’s post isn’t about investing, markets, or stocks. It’s personal. My best friend for life, Rigatoni, passed away Thursday night. I want to honor him the only way I know how: by writing.

Paying Tribute to Rigatoni — Part 1

“City Boi”

Rigatoni was born on September 4^th, 2014, in New Jersey. By the time my girlfriend and I showed up to meet the litter, most of his brothers and sisters had already been spoken for. There were only two pups left: a tiny little blue runt with scratches all over his head, and a white and blue spotted brother who was calm and quiet.

When we picked them both up, the choice became obvious. The spotted one was chill. But the little guy—he was squirming with energy, already full of fight at just eight weeks old. That would be Rigatoni. From the very beginning, he made it clear: he was a fighter.

Rigatoni’s first day home, 2.6 lbs

Rigatoni became the mascot of Philadelphia. He was the new pup on the block and brought life and energy everywhere he strutted. In a way, he owned Old City and Penn’s Landing. While I was going through a tough breakup with my girlfriend at the time, Rigatoni came everywhere with me. He became an instant king of the Penn’s Landing dog park—always wanting to be older than he really was, playing rough with the biggest dogs he could find. He thought he owned that park and somehow found ways to get all the dogs involved. He lived for that damn park.

He threw absolute hissy fits when it was time to leave the park, to the point where I had to hire a trainer just for that situation. Most days ended with me slinging him over my shoulder and carrying him back to our apartment across the street. People in the neighborhood got a kick out of it. Rigatoni was also a comedian, always doing something ridiculous just to make everyone laugh. Wherever we went, he came with me—house parties, cafés, the beach, etc. We were inseparable. Walking from Penn’s Landing into Old City was impossible without being stopped constantly by strangers who wanted to smile, pet him, or just say hi. He had that magnetism.

Rigatoni and his girlfriend Indie, Wissahickon Valley Park trip

And if you’re familiar with Philly, you’ll know the inside joke—how Broad Street divides the city right down the center. There were times people on the other side of Broad Street were talking about Rigatoni, the blue French bulldog puppy. It was crazy how fast word traveled. Philly is a small city in that way and somehow, Rigatoni became part of the conversation.

Rigs with one of his best friends, Lord Stanley, at the dog park

Through our golden years in Philadelphia, Rigatoni got me through more breakups, more rough nights, and more personal growth than I can count. Our bond kept getting stronger, to a point that I never thought possible. It might sound weird—maybe even stupid—but I felt like I was him, and he was me. It felt like we knew each other in a way that no one else ever could. I didn’t expect that bond to grow so deep, but I guess that’s what happens with soulmates.

Eventually, our "walking era" began—when we outgrew the dog park and wanted to explore more of the world. There are plenty of things I don’t like about Philadelphia, but I’ll never forget those walks with him. Rigatoni loved exploring the city on foot. We walked for hours and covered every back street and quiet park in Society Hill, Old City, and along the Delaware Waterfront. Our walks were miles and lasted for hours.

Society Hill, Philadelphia PA

We never really felt like we were living in a major city. There was this pier under the Benjamin Franklin Bridge—called Race Street Pier—where we’d sit in the sun for hours. I’d sip my coffee while he was soaking in every little moment. He’d lift his nose into the river breeze, taking in every scent. He’d watch the planes fly overhead, track the joggers and dogs, and perk up every time the train rumbled across above us. Looking back, those days were some of the happiest we ever had. Maybe the closest thing to heaven.

Wow, a plane or a drone, cool!

I’d protect him with my life. And I literally meant it. If a larger, aggressive dog ever came near us—and there were plenty of untrained rescues in the city—I already knew how I’d fight it off. Over time, that protection instinct became more intense. Eventually, I realized the dog park had become too risky. Some of the things I saw there, I won’t write about here—but they haunt me. They taught me that you don’t gamble with the life of someone you love. So we walked instead. The park days were over.

Summer nights at Race Street Pier

One of my favorite memories might sound controversial, but it’s the night we were all told to shelter in place during the beginning of the pandemic—March 2020. For me, it meant working from home. It meant I got to spend every second of the day with my best friend. Champagne bottles were popped in my condo. Rigatoni and I danced to loud celebratory music together. The idea of being home with him forever felt like the greatest gift. Anyone who’s had the luxury of working from home with a dog knows exactly what I mean. It changes everything. It's the ultimate level-up for a pet’s life.

From there, our story continued like two lovebirds building a life. And it was time for a real change. I promised Rigatoni that the second part of his life would be even better than the first. I’d give him fresh air, a fenced yard to play soccer in, a pool to cool off in and a big deck to sunbathe on. This wouldn’t be just my house, it would be “Rigatoni’s Compound.” My entire life became centered around him. I also wanted to be closer to family and give him the space he deserved.

We finally made the move and never looked back. Not once did I bring him back to the city. Not once did I miss the condo lifestyle. Our next chapter had officially begun.

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Paying Tribute to Rigatoni — Part 2

“The King of His Compound”

Rigatoni, describing his daily routine:

“Wake up after snuggles with my Daddy in a king-size bed. Breakfast. Coconut oil. Maybe some leftover salmon. Lay in the sun. Guard the front of the compound. Pick me up now—I want to be held please. Get in Daddy’s car to walk at a destination that must be driven to. I do not like walking in my own neighborhood.

Now we’re home, so I immediately want to lay on the deck—or play soccer in the backyard. Time for Dad to cook me a fresh beef marrow bone. I’ll be busy with that for the next 45 minutes.

Nap time. Dinner will come sooner if I just shut my eyes. Dinner, like every single night: fresh baked salmon. Maybe some of Daddy’s food too, if he feels like it’s safe.

Now it’s playtime—tug-of-war, wrastling, and playing rough. Lots of smooches and he smothers me a bit too much.

Then it’s time to get ready for snuggles on the couch while Daddy watches his sports... and his ‘shows,’ as he calls them.”

This was the routine—pretty much every single day at the Compound. Yes, he literally got salmon every night later in his life. The fish counter employees all knew Rigatoni and knew why I came every day. It was the one food I knew never upset his stomach, after years of trial and error. And yes, I boiled him a beef marrow bone every single day.

The Diagnosis:

It happened on a random night in October. Rigatoni had just finished our usual post-dinner tug-of-war session. But as we wrapped up, he turned the corner around the kitchen counter—and froze. He was stuck. His face said it all: Dad, something is seriously wrong.

That was a rough night. I knew it wasn’t just arthritic pain. I was persistent with the vet, pushing for more answers. Eventually, an X-ray and ultrasound revealed a large mass on his spleen.

After some serious research and careful consideration, I made the decision to move forward with surgery to remove the spleen and the attached tumor. The doctor who performed the procedure was cautiously optimistic, saying there was about a 50% chance the tumor might be benign.

That was the moment the pre-grieving began. I always thought Rigatoni would live until at least 14. That was the goal I quietly carried with me for years.

Rigatoni bounced back incredibly well from the surgery. But the biopsy results confirmed it was hemangiosarcoma—a deadly aggressive cancer. He was given anywhere from a few weeks to a few months to live. The hardest part about this disease is that dogs can seem perfectly fine on the outside. They can run, play, eat, snuggle, and show no visible signs of anything wrong—until the cancer spreads and the internal hemorrhaging begins again.

From that day on, Rigatoni was never left alone. With the support of my family—especially his Grandma, who lived nearby—we made sure someone was always with him. Even when I went to the gym for an hour, she’d come over and stay with him.

And somehow, in the middle of all this, he got even better at soccer. He’d dribble the ball around the backyard with his nose, showing off for friends and family when they came by. He was proud. He was talented. He crushed salmon for dinner and crushed life. He was still the king of his compound.

Christmas 2024, new soccer ball gift

The Final Days:

It was five months later when the signs finally started to show. Rigatoni began to slow down—less play, more discomfort when lying down at night. His appetite started to fade. He began having episodes, especially at night—waves of what seemed like pain. But like most dogs, he was terrible at showing it. He was a fighter, and I know he was fighting for me.

Last Thursday afternoon, he was still doing his best to hide it. But it was clear something had changed. My family rushed over, knowing it was time to face some hard decisions. If it were up to me, I would’ve let him pass peacefully at his compound, but it became too much of an emergency. I couldn’t stand to see him like that.

The decision to euthanize that night at the ER didn’t come easy. But eventually, I knew it was time.

My family and I spent time with him in a private room. He was a little uncomfortable during those last hours, but we all had time to say our goodbyes and smother him with love. I told my family I wanted to stay until the very end—and leave by myself. So I sat with him. I put the NCAA basketball tournament on my phone, and we watched a game together. I cried here and there, but nothing too bad. He was clearly uncomfortable, and I couldn’t let him keep going like that.

When the time came, I held him close. We looked into each other’s eyes as he passed.

The following morning, I cried and cried in my bed. I went through photos and videos from Rigatoni’s life. I lay on his beds and cried, trying to find even the faintest trace of his scent—but I couldn’t. The only thing that still held it, I’m convinced, is his sweater. So, I carry it with me throughout the day. When I get sad, I smell it.

Because Rigatoni couldn’t speak, I think we bonded in a way that goes even deeper than most human relationships. Yes, dogs give unconditional love—but I believe that the way we communicate with them, without words, can sometimes make the connection stronger. We told each other we loved each other every single day. Not with language. Just by looking into each other’s eyes and with millions of kisses.

I once heard that the best way to beat depression is to work your ass off. And that’s what I plan to do—right here at Rigatoni Capital.

I don’t have many subscribers, but the finance and investing community here on Substack has been incredible since I started this blog. Even though Rigatoni didn’t care much for stocks or investing, I think after being forced to listen to CNBC for ten years, he understood how important it was to me.

He’d want me to carry on his name.

So I will. Through this blog. Through writing. And through helping people learn how to invest for the long term—in stocks, index funds, and Bitcoin.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop writing. Because every time I do, I get to write under his name.

I want to thank my Mom, Dad, my Sister, and my Brother-in-law for all the support and love they gave Rigatoni throughout his life. I’m so grateful he had that kind of love around him and we all lived so close by.

I also want to thank my friends who have reached out. It truly means a lot.

And for those of you reading this who may be finding out for the first time—please feel free to reach out. I’d love to hear your favorite memories of Rigatoni. I know he touched a lot of people in different ways, and it brings me peace to know how much he was adored.

Thank you for reading.

Love Colin and Rigatoni