“For the Dog They Told Me to Forget”

They told me you were just a dog. But you were never “just” anything.

You were my shadow — padding behind me down hallways, curling up at my feet, watching me with those eyes that seemed to know everything without me saying a word. You knew when I was happy, and you knew when I wasn’t. And you never left.

When the world felt cold, you were warm. When people hurt me, you stayed gentle. When I was too tired to speak, you didn’t need words. You loved me in a way no human ever had — fully, without questions, without conditions. And that’s what made losing you so unbearable.

I remember the day you were gone. The silence in the house was deafening. I kept expecting to hear your paws on the floor, your soft sigh when you lay down. But instead, there was nothing. I wanted to cry until there was nothing left in me. But they told me to stop. They told me to move on. They told me not to make such a big deal out of it — that it was just an animal, that these things happen. But you weren’t “these things.” You weren’t replaceable. You weren’t a phase of childhood to be brushed away like it never happened. You were family. You were my best friend. And you deserved to be remembered.

So here it is — the goodbye I never got to give you.

Thank you for the years you gave me.
Thank you for teaching me what loyalty looks like.
Thank you for loving me without ever hurting me.
Thank you for being my safe place when I didn’t have another.

They might not understand. But I do.
And I will never forget you.

Run free now, wherever you are.
You were never “just a dog.”
You were my dog.
And that’s everything.