Losing a dog is unlike any other grief. It’s a quiet, soul-crushing ache that lingers in every empty space — the spot on the couch, the sound of silence where once there was a tail thumping, a bark, or soft breathing at your feet. When I lost Hank, my world fell apart. He wasn’t just a pet; he was my anchor, my joy, my soul dog. Without him, I couldn’t see a reason to go on. I was suicidal. The pain was unbearable, and nothing felt worth living for anymore.
My husband, desperate to help, said something that changed everything: “Either you go to the shelter and try, or you’re going on a 72-hour hold.” It wasn’t said cruelly — it was the plea of someone who loved me and didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t expect much. I certainly didn’t think I’d ever love again. But 11 days after Hank passed, I walked into a shelter — one I never would’ve visited under normal circumstances — and found Rufus.
Or maybe, Rufus found me.
He wasn’t the dog I thought I’d be looking for. He was scruffy, anxious, and had clearly been through his own kind of pain. But when our eyes met, there was something familiar there. A pull. A whisper in my heart that said, “This one. He needs you. And you need him.” Looking back, I truly believe Hank guided me to Rufus. There was no other reason I would have ended up at that particular shelter on that particular day. It was out of the way, unremarkable — but that visit changed my life.
I thought I was saving Rufus. But really, he saved me.
His presence gave me a reason to get out of bed. His need for love mirrored my own. Together, we healed — slowly, gently. Every wag of his tail stitched a tiny piece of my broken heart. Every nuzzle reminded me that love, even after loss, is still possible.
Grief never leaves completely. I still cry for Hank. I still miss him with an ache that sometimes catches me off guard. But I’ve learned that opening your heart again doesn’t mean forgetting the one you lost. It means honoring their memory by continuing the love they gave so freely.
If you’re in that dark place now, shattered and hollow after losing your soul dog, please know this: there’s another dog out there who needs you just as much as you need them. Chooch would want you to help that dog. Your heart isn’t done loving — it’s just waiting to heal. And the love of a dog? It can heal all wounds, even the ones you think are beyond repair.
So go to the shelter. Listen for that quiet pull. And let another dog in. You’ll be saving their life — but don’t be surprised when they end up saving yours.
