Today, I lost my beautiful girl.

She was only 7 and a half years old — far too young for goodbye. I rescued her when she was just one and a half, scared and unsure, with eyes that had seen too much and trusted too little. I remember that day so clearly: she hesitated at first, standing in the corner of the shelter with her head low. But the moment our eyes met, something shifted. She walked toward me slowly, cautiously, and laid her head in my lap. That’s when I realized — I wasn’t just rescuing her. She was rescuing me right back.

From that day forward, she became the heartbeat beside me.

She was there through every high and low. When I felt lost, she grounded me. When life felt too heavy, she reminded me to breathe — to go outside, feel the sun, and notice the little things again. Her tail wags were therapy. Her gentle nudges during tearful nights were better than words. She never judged, never walked away, never gave up on me.

We had so many plans. Adventures yet to take. Roads yet to walk. Grey hairs we were supposed to grow together. I pictured her snoozing on the porch of our future home, chasing butterflies in slow motion as her limbs grew stiffer but her spirit stayed wild.

But time played a cruel trick. It took her too soon, as if the brightest lights must burn out faster.

Now there’s a silence in my house that feels unbearable. Her empty bed. Her leash still hanging by the door. The echo of her footsteps I keep hoping to hear again. My heart aches not just for the love I’ve lost, but for the future that’s now gone with her.

Some people say, “She was just a dog.”
But she was never “just” anything.
She was love in its purest form.
She was family. She was home.

And though my arms are empty, my soul is full — of her warmth, her loyalty, and the thousands of moments that made up a lifetime in too short a time.

Run free now, my sweet girl.
You rescued me once.
And I’ll carry that rescue for the rest of my life.