My darling girl. How has it been a year? A year since my heart was ripped out. Only to be ripped out again in February when my dad died. So much loss. I have seen so much goodness and provision from God amongst the grief. But gosh, I miss being your mom. I sat looking at your pictures tonight, gazing into your sweet face, remembering taking you to all the places. The vet visits for acupuncture or laser treatments. The trips to the pet store afterwards for treats and to find more food options for you. The years of searching for foods you would actually eat that I could feel okay serving you. The batches of organs I prepared, stinking to high heaven, to include in your homemade meals that I lovingly made you for years.

The walks. Oh, all our walks. Me and you baby girl. We walked everywhere. I miss you sniffing. I miss you chasing squirrels. I miss you disappearing in the ferns. The jingle of your necklace. Your pink harness. The scent of the shampoo while bathing you. The mounds of fur that would pile in the bathtub. The trips to you get your nails. Your teeth cleaned. How you always knew where Nama lived and could lead us to her apartment. Picking you up after we would be gone on a trip and you would run around crazy and bark at us, giving a proper scolding about how could we leave you like that. The gifts you gave every time we came home from work. Toys. Paper towels. Root beer bottles. Anything you could find lying about, you would offer to us.

How you would smoosh your head into my face for more kisses. The sweet little sighs when I would pet you and sing to you. How you would tap us when we stopped petting you, insistent on more. Drinking out of our water glasses. That you would eventually only drink out of glass. And only filtered waters. Preferably with ice. You loved cauliflower and spaghetti squash. And the gluten free blueberry muffins. And the cinnamon “crack” cake.

How you paid no mind when people showed up at our house. Glancing over but quickly dismissing their presence. Unless it was Nama. How you liked to sleep across the bed width wise, no mind to where me or your dad would go. Your routine every time we arrived at a hotel. You refused to go potty until you had gone into the room and inspected it. Then you would go out. And come back in and hop on the bed and rearrange all the pillows and blankets until you were comfy. You hated the car. But you never wanted to be left at home. Which was evident by the number of sets of window blinds you ate to try to get to us. You were ridiculously smart. Cleverly devising ways to get me up out of my seat, to either steal the seat yourself and make me give you a treat.

You were a joy, my darling. Pure joy. The best dog. An irreplaceable dog. And I desperately miss being your mom.