Pretty girl, I never really can come to terms with the fact you’re gone. I see your fuzzy face everywhere, and I see all the things you would have loved. I see the toys you aren’t playing with, the greetings you aren’t giving me, the wail’s you’re not wailing.
And it’s easy to say you were – of course – just a dog, but if you were just anything, then two months later, we wouldn’t be in tears at the thought of you. And all of us are. But you would have known that, because you were my little smarty.
Should a human be half so beautiful, warm and intelligent as you, they would be impossibly perfect. So I must content myself with the nine years we had together; the love you gave me; and the lessons you taught me.
For gone or here, you are always my own sweet girl.