For The Love Of Dogs

My shadow, my buddy, my brat, my reason. My Jack Russell, Oscar, nearing 15 yrs, all his auburn accent hair has turned to white, right along with mine.
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I’ve seen many lifeless bodies—but none hurt like the one with paws. I’ve stood in front of the vet as they said, “there’s nothing more we can do,” while I whispered to you, “you’re going to be okay,” even though I felt your warmth slipping away beneath my shaking hands.
I’ve cleaned up fur from your favorite spot days after you were gone, like it was sacred—because it was. I’ve woken up to phantom jingles of your collar, only to remember you're not coming back.

I’ve smiled through family dinners, while a part of me was still curled up beside your empty bed. I’ve cried in parking lots. Behind closed doors. In pet aisles I didn’t realize I couldn’t walk through anymore. I’ve watched people say “it was just a dog,” not knowing you were the reason I kept going during the worst.

You were my calm in chaos, my reason to get out of bed, my therapist who never charged a cent. I’ve buried a piece of my heart and tried to walk away. Tried to smile at the memories instead of breaking under their weight. And some days, I manage.
Other days, I still reach for a leash that’s no longer needed. Pet loss isn't small. It’s the silent heartbreak no one prepares you for.
We don’t want pity. We don’t even ask for understanding. Just don’t tell us to "move on." Let us grieve the way we need to,
because when you lose a soul like that, you don’t get over it

You carry it. Forever. 💔
 
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