This is what I wrote: From the moment I opened my eyes, her scent was my world—a mix of lavender soap and summer grass. She named me Finn, and from that day, I was hers. We grew together, her laughter filling the meadow behind our house as I chased her through fields of wildflowers. At night, I lay at the foot of her bed, guarding her dreams as if they were my own.
But time, relentless and unyielding, whispered its changes. She grew taller, her steps more purposeful. The meadow became a memory, replaced by books and plans for a future beyond our little world. I watched her pack her bags, her excitement tinged with something bittersweet. She knelt beside me, her hand trembling as it rested on my silvered muzzle. "I’ll miss you, Finn," she whispered, her voice breaking.
I wanted to tell her I understood, that I was proud of her, that I would always be with her in spirit. But my body, worn and tired, had other plans. As she walked out the door, her suitcase in hand, I felt the weight of years settle over me. My breaths grew shallow, my vision dim. I closed my eyes, my heart full of love and gratitude for the life we shared.
When she returned that evening, her face pale with worry, she found me lying peacefully on my blanket. Though my body was still, my spirit lingered, watching over her as I always had. I was hers, from the first breath to the last. Always. Forever.
I wrote that story 3 days before my best friend of 15 years passed away. I was only a kid when we met, her a mere year old, but I never knew she’d become such a big part of my life. You never truly realize how integral something is until it’s gone.
My heart aches as I tell this story, but a smile comes with the tears: I walked down the hall of that animal shelter, my eyes wandering to the adorable puppies and barking hounds, the smell of chemicals and animals fills the air. We peruse the aisles, until we reach the very end, in the kennel sits a young, reddish-brown dog, her ears slightly floppy at the ends. While the shelter erupts in barks and howls, she merely sits there, looking up at us with her big brown eyes. We had a baby in the family at the time, and everyone knows a puppy and a baby usually don’t mix well, so we brought her into the meeting room, and let the baby do what baby’s do. He yanked at her fur, pulled on her ears, but all she did was put her head down on my mom’s lap, calm as can be, not a growl or bark elicited. We fell in love immediately, and decided to take her home. Her name was Poppy, and Poppy had been returned twice before she found her way home to us. We gave her a new identity along with her new home, Briley. She quickly acclimated to her new life with us, bringing us laughter and joy. I slowly grew to rely on her for emotional support. We were inseparable, her presence comforting me every night and doing her best to bring me joy.
She slowly got older, as time does, and the inevitable loomed in the distance, her death and my departure for college. We all hoped one would come before the other, so when she started to fall and struggle to walk, we knew her time was getting closer. We took her to the vet but they said she was as healthy as can be, except for a bad hip. All seemed fine, aside from the occasional fall, until one day, she was bopping along, only to fall. This fall would be her last; she lay there yelping, in pain, biting anyone who tried to help (showing just how much pain she was in, to abandon her docile nature). We rushed her to the vet, my arms around her, tracking the minutes. Her breathing was labored and her body shaking; we passed a bakery for dogs on way to the vet, and I remarked that when she was done at the vet we could get her some treats as a reward, but deep down, I knew she wouldn’t be leaving that clinic. We waited as they tried to do what they could, distracting my mind with a game, until my mom came out of the back room. She wouldn’t look at me. I knew. I didn’t want to accept it, I wouldn’t accept it, but I had to. As I held her on that examination table, stroking her gray speckled head, I whispered to her how well she’d done, good girl, and thanked her for being there for me for the past 15 years. I closed my eyes as they injected her, holding her tight, making sure she knew I was there with her til the end. I felt her head grow heavy as the life left her body. I knew she was gone. There was nothing the vet could do, her heart had failed and her lungs were inflamed. She gave me every last ounce of her life. So starts a new chapter in my life, one without my best friend.
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