You found me when I was smaller. Curious. Blind to the world, but ready to hear your voice and lick your hand.

I was your only companion as I grew up. You were my only person.

I was there for you as you were there for me.

Remember when you wouldn’t let me eat the ice cream cone? I’m sorry about all the times I stole the pizza.

Men came and went into your life, but I safeguarded you from them all the same.

I remember bursting into your room the first time one injured you, shouting furiously at the man as you bled from between your legs.

Sometimes, you’d wrap your arms around my neck and cry. I didn’t understand what went wrong, but I licked your tears all the same.

I grew older, and so did you.

You finally found a man to call your mate. I sniffed, sneezed, and licked his hand.

I remember when you left for a fortnite and came back with her in your arms.

You were exhausted, but we welcomed her into our family. I was so excited!

I apologize for stealing her baby food.

I bit him when he hit you, shouting as he shouted at you and your daughter. He flung a book at me and it knocked my nose. It hurt.

You had to move. You secured custody, but had to move to a smaller place.

I remember your daughter running with her little feet on the driveway as she stumbled and fell, crying, “Mommy, mommy, why are they taking our dog away?”

I haven’t seen you in a long time. Perhaps someday, you’ll take me on a walk again.