Muffin, it’s been four days since you died. I thought it would get a little easier by now, but it hasn’t. I am still broken. I’m numb. Every time I think of you, I tear up. Every time I drive to get food for mom, I break down. Muffin, I miss you.

You were only in my life for a year and a half, but it feels like you were with me for decades.

As much as I am sad, I am also mad. Why the fuck did you have to die? You survived parvo like a warrior, and you were only a baby. It is not fair.

My schedule is flipped upside down because you are not here. I’m lost. My days haven’t been the same.

You are supposed to jump on me when I wake up. After I wake up and get coffee, we’re supposed to go play ball in the front yard.

After playing ball, you rest for a little bit. We then go on a walk to the park. You run around in the park and bark at the other dogs. After the walk, you play with your toys and then take a little nap with mom.

When mom wakes up, I come lay on the bed, and you jump on me, trying to bite me. Mom gets annoyed after a while, but we still play. After our final play session, you go pee for the last time, and then you come to lay down. You sleep right between mom and me.

As I said, I’m lost. I know you would lick my tears as I write this.

I know it’s going to be okay; it has to. You are with Shadow, Beeper, and Bruce. Please tell them I miss them too.

You came into our lives made us smile and laugh like no other. You gave comfort when we were sad or mad. You were special.

I love you, Muffin. I will miss you forever.

“Dogs have a way of finding the people who need them and filling an emptiness we didn’t ever know we had.”