How to Write a Pet Obituary

[Name] came into our lives on a rainy Tuesday in 2015, a bundle of fur barely bigger than my hand. We had gone to the shelter "just to look," and left two hours later with a dog who had already claimed us.

[Name] was the runt of the litter, the one nobody else wanted. She fit in the palm of my hand and looked up at me like she already knew. That was fourteen years ago.

[Name] was, in the most generous interpretation, a terrible guard dog. He greeted burglars and mail carriers with equal enthusiasm. But he knew when you were sad before you did, and he would press his whole body against your legs until you felt less alone.

[Name] had opinions. About everything. She would yell at you if dinner was late, yell at you if you closed a door she wanted open, and then curl up on your chest purring like nothing had happened. She was difficult, demanding, and the best thing in the room at all times.

[Name] lived for three things: cheese, the spot under the living room window where the sun hit at exactly 2pm, and my husband's lap. In that order.

Her favorite toy was a stuffed duck that she carried everywhere for eleven years. We replaced it twice. She always knew.

[Name] got me through a divorce, a cross-country move, and the worst year of my life. She did not care about any of it. She cared about walks and dinner and sleeping on my feet, and somehow that was exactly enough.

My kids grew up with [Name]. He was there for first days of school, bad dreams, homework meltdowns, and every family photo for twelve years. He was not a pet. He was a sibling, a confidant, a fixed point in a world that kept changing.

[Name] died on March 3rd, at home, with her head in my lap and the sun coming through the window she loved. She was 14 years old and she was everything.

The house is quieter now. No tags jingling in the hallway, no thumping tail when the fridge opens, no warm weight at the foot of the bed. We are learning to live in the silence, but we are not ready for it yet.