Never in a million years did I think that moment would be the last. I keep replaying it in my head—dropping you off, giving you that little pat on your head, telling you to be good, and that I’d see you soon. I had no idea I wouldn’t see you alive again. If I had known, I would’ve held you longer. I would’ve stayed. I would’ve never let go.
Choochie boy, you weren’t just a dog—you were my best friend, my shadow, my heart outside of my body. You were there during the quiet nights, the rough mornings, and the in-between moments that most people never see. Your goofy smile, the way you always nudged your nose into my side for comfort, the way you somehow always knew when I needed you—those are the memories burned into me now.
The house is quieter now. Too quiet. Your empty bed still sits in the corner, and I catch myself glancing at it, half-expecting to see you curled up, tail thumping when our eyes meet. But you’re not there. And I can’t seem to accept that you won’t be.
I’m sorry, Choochie. I’m so, so sorry. I thought we had more time. I thought you’d come back home. That you’d be wagging your tail at the door, ready for your treat and belly rub. Instead, I’m left with your collar and the echo of your bark in my memory.
You were the best dog ever. Everyone who met you said the same. Sweet, loyal, full of love—and never once asked for anything but to be by my side. You gave me more than I ever gave you. And now, I don’t know how to fill the space you’ve left behind.
Thank you for being my boy. Thank you for loving me unconditionally. I hope you knew how much I loved you. I hope you weren’t scared. And I hope—somehow—you’re still with me.
Rest easy, my sweet Choochie boy. You’ll always be the best part of me. 🐾💔
