I still open the door of my house, with my eyes glued to the floor, looking around for him.

My mind still calls out to him, but the words don’t come out of my mouth.

It feels weird, alone, and empty when I take a nap in the afternoon because there is no one fighting with me for the blanket.

No one comes squealing with excitement when I walk in after a long day.

No one is throwing a tantrum in the house during breakfast or asking for biscuits during tea time.

Those innocent, vibrant, warm, empathetic, curious, playful eyes are gone….and it’s hard to believe I won’t ever see them again.

We’d been together for 14 long years….and not once did the thought of losing him ever crossed my mind. We had a pact, “Pookie and me forever,” but then he went away…all of a sudden.

He wasn’t my dog—he was my baby. I had raised him right from the first day he came into our house. I remember getting a call from my mom saying that we had a new dog in the house, and yes, I wasn’t happy because I hadn’t been able to get over the sudden loss of our previous dog from the previous year. I entered my mom’s room. She was sleeping, and there a tiny face snuck out from her blanket. He was a tiny ball of fur—chocolate brown in color with a shine in his eyes and the cutest doggie nose I’d ever seen. It was love at first sight for me. I didn’t know how I would I take care of him, but I knew I had to.

He was naughty as hell as a kid! Every morning when he saw that I was about to leave for college, he would decide to run and hide with my socks, and I would chase him around the house for them. If I was studying then he would decide to wreck everything in the room to get my attention. He loved stuffed toys and I loved getting them for him.

He filled our house with love, playfulness, and cuteness. He was my everything—my baby, friend, cuddle buddy, play buddy, but most importantly, my child and emotional anchor. He was super communicative, expressive, and intelligent. He made sure we knew what he wanted. He was that clear, and he had his quirks. He loved “ghevar” and “rabri,” traditional Indian sweets, and he was specific about his choices too! And he also knew what we wanted—what I wanted.

I discovered his empathetic and emotionally intelligent and available side during COVID-19 when one day I was sitting on my bed and crying about something. He was sleeping and he suddenly got up and came toward me. I paused, wondered what happened, and picked him up, and he immediately started licking my tears. That surprised and moved me at the same time. I never knew animals could be this sensitive. He taught me that and also set an example of what emotional support should look like. And to a large extent this treatment was reserved only for me. And come to think of it, he was a lot like me. A bit reclusive, preferred his own space. He didn’t like anyone invading his space if he wasn’t in the mood, but when he was, he would play, run, cuddle, roll on the bed, play hide and seek. He was particular about who he invited into his space and the moments where she showered an outsider with affection and love were rare, but when he did, he went all out!

He was brave and strong. He was a fighter. In all these years, he bounced back from severe infections many times until the last one got the better of him two weeks ago.

People ask me how I am doing. And I really don’t know. For the most part, I am fine, normal, getting on with life because I know that he’s pain-free. I know my baby is in another world—happy, playful, and healthy, but deep down, I am grieving. I miss him. I miss holding him. I lost my companion, my emotional anchor. My eyes unconsciously keep searching for him, my heart silently calls out to him, but consciously I know the reality is different.

His love for all was immense, pure, and unconditional. I have so much love to give to him. I just don’t know where to put it. At least not yet, and that’s okay.

I know that loss and grief suck. When you’re grieving, it’s like someone continues to suck the life out of you bit by bit. Grief is all your love with nowhere to go. I know…I talk about grief, hold space for people’s pain every now and then. I know it’s painful, exhausting, confusing.

One minute you’re normal and the other you’re all over the place. Tiny memories keep flashing before your eyes and you can only watch them go by because sometimes feeling them feels like being crushed under a boulder, and at other times, you want to hold onto them for your dear life because that’s all that’s left.

I have no life lessons, no pointers or take aways for you, dear reader in this piece. This is to honor my love for my child, my Pookie who I miss immensely and it pains me to know that I won’t see or feel him again. Some things are pure emotion and they should stay like that.

I miss those adorable eyes and that handsome face. Yet, I am at peace knowing he’s not suffering anymore. Yes, grief and peace can co-exist. You can miss someone’s presence yet feel they’re with you. Sometimes the biggest lesson is about honoring and expressing what you feel rather than keeping it stuffed in—especially its love.

Life is messy, chaotic, and unpredictable, and more so now. That’s why you should hold your loved ones close to your heart. Tell them you love them, show it to them through actions and not mere words, and open yourself up to love, joy, and playfulness.

I know he’s not with me, but his love will always be within me.

Some might wonder, all this writing for a dog? No. It’s for my child who deserves to know that he was, is, and will always be loved.

To whoever is reading this—send a wish to my baby, will you? And may he send back even more love your way.

Rest in peace, my baby.

You’ll always have my heart.

~