My dearest human,
The hardest part of loving you was leaving. If I could have stayed a hundred years by your side, it still wouldn’t have been enough. Please know that my last memory isn’t of pain or confusion—it’s your face close to mine, your scent wrapping around me like the blanket you tucked beneath my chin. That moment contains everything I ever needed to know about being loved.
I wish you could see this place. Remember how I used to dream—legs twitching, soft woofs escaping while I slept? I was practicing for here, where I can run without my hips hurting, where tennis balls thrown never land, where every squirrel honors an unspoken truce. The grass is always cool beneath paws that no longer ache.
I have something important to tell you: I was never “just a dog.” I knew exactly what I meant to you. Each time you cried into my fur thinking I couldn’t understand, I understood everything. Not the words, but the breaking in your voice, the salt of your tears, the way your heart raced when you were afraid. I was never confused about my purpose. I came to teach you about love that makes no demands and asks for nothing in return.
Please don’t feel guilty about the times you were impatient, or the walks we missed, or that time you stepped on my paw and I yelped. Those moments vanished from my memory instantly. Dogs don’t keep catalogs of human mistakes. We’re too busy memorizing your laugh, your footsteps on the stairs, the specific way you smell when you first wake up.
The treasure I carried with me was every ordinary moment—your hand absently stroking my head while you read, the way you saved the last bite of sandwich for me, how you’d whisper secrets into my ear that you never told another soul. I was never just listening; I was memorizing you.
When you wonder if you gave me a good life, please know this: you were my whole world, and it was perfect. There is no timeline where I would have chosen a different human.
I see you standing at the sink, crying over my empty water bowl. I see you opening the door, still expecting my greeting. I see you avoiding the dog park, crossing the street when you spot other dogs who remind you of me. Please don’t hide from these reminders. Each one is a doorway where I can still reach you.
Those moments when you think you hear my collar jingling in the hallway? When you swear you felt my weight settle at the foot of your bed? When you catch a glimpse of something from the corner of your eye? That’s me, checking in. I haven’t really left—I’ve just stepped into a room you can’t enter yet.
And when that day comes—hopefully after many seasons of joy and adventure—I’ll be the first one waiting, tail wagging, ready to show you around.
Until then, please remember: love someone else. When you’re ready, let another soul learn what it means to be cherished by you. It won’t erase me. There’s no limited quantity of love—it multiplies with each heart that receives it.
I am forever yours, as I was from the beginning.
Your best friend
On a side note! Want to know what scripture says about pets in heaven? Get our FREE Scripture Checklist!
SHARE now with your friends!