It’s hard to put into words how much I miss you, Chooch. Some days, I still pause, expecting to hear your paws tapping across the floor or your gentle sigh as you settle beside me. The silence you left behind is deafening. It’s in those quiet moments that the grief crashes in like a wave—unexpected, overwhelming, and raw.
You were my “once in a lifetime” pup. The kind of dog people dream of. Loyal, silly, stubborn in the most endearing way, and endlessly loving. You weren’t just my dog—you were my companion, my confidant, my comfort. Life feels emptier without you in it. I still reach out instinctively when I pass your spot on the couch. I still glance around for you during our old walking hours.
But with the grief comes something else—memories. So many memories. I remember the first time I saw you, wide-eyed and full of energy, already tugging at my heart. I remember the way your ears flopped when you ran, the way your nose twitched when you were up to something, and that signature look you gave when you knew you were being spoiled. You filled my life with so much joy, even in the hardest times.
Every day with you was a gift. Even when you got older and slower, when your face turned gray and your legs stiffened, you still had that spark. That same deep soul in your eyes, still shining with love. You fought so hard to stay with me, and I know you only let go because you knew I’d be okay.
But I’m not really okay, not fully. I don’t think I ever will be. That’s the price of loving someone like you so deeply. But I carry you with me—in every walk I take, every sunny day, every quiet evening when I look up at the stars and wonder if you’re watching.
I know we’ll meet again. I don’t know when or how, but I believe it with everything in me. Until then, I’ll hold tight to the memories and the love you left behind.
Oh, how I wish you were here, Chooch. I miss you more than words can say.
