Because true love doesn’t measure in pounds, but in moments shared.

She didn’t plan to fall in love that quickly. But the first time she held him in her arms — eyes barely open, legs too wobbly to walk, breath warm against her chest — something inside her shifted. He wasn’t just a puppy; he was a promise. A silent, soft promise that life would never be the same again. That she would never come home to silence again. That no morning would ever start without a wagging tail, and no night would ever feel lonely with a heartbeat curled beside hers.

She gave him a name. He gave her purpose.

In those early days, she carried him everywhere — to the kitchen, to the garden, even to bed. He was light as a feather but heavy with meaning. When he fell asleep in her lap, it felt like the world stopped for a moment to breathe. And when he looked up at her with sleepy eyes full of trust, it felt like the universe had given her something sacred. She whispered to him that he would always be safe. That she would never leave. That he would never have to be afraid again.

And time passed.

The tiny fluffball grew into a lanky teenager, full of clumsy energy and mischief. He knocked over plants, chewed on her shoes, and stole socks like they were treasures. But he also learned her moods. When she cried, he stayed close. When she laughed, he jumped with joy. When she got sick, he lay beside her, refusing food until she got better. He grew — not just in size, but in soul.

And now, he’s all grown up. He’s heavier. Stronger. His paws thud against the floor. His tail wags like a drumbeat. But no matter how big he gets, he still runs to her arms like he did when he was just a few weeks old. He doesn’t care that he barely fits anymore. He doesn’t care that his legs dangle or his weight makes her laugh as she tries to hold him. All he knows is that in her arms, he feels like that tiny puppy again. In her arms, the world is warm, and simple, and right.

Because dogs don’t count years the way we do. They count moments. They don’t notice how much we’ve changed — only that we’re still here. Still loving. Still keeping the promise.

So now, when she holds him — her full-grown, goofy, beautiful boy — she doesn’t just remember who he was. She remembers who she became because of him. Kinder. Softer. Stronger. More human. And if you ask her, she’ll tell you: she still sees that baby face every time he lays his head on her shoulder.

And if you ask him?

He’ll tell you that no matter how many birthdays pass, no matter how many grey hairs show up on his snout, she’ll always be his person. His home. His forever.

Because in her arms, he never stopped being the little pup who believed she could fix the world.