Smash Your Past Pets Page

No more barks.
No more paws on the floor.
No more fur that somehow ended up everywhere.
No more paw prints by the door.

There’s a space in the house now that doesn’t make sense.
Some people say, “It was just a pet.”
But it wasn’t.
It was my best friend.

No more greetings at the door —
whether I was gone all day
or just taking out the trash.
Same wagging tail.
Same look that said, “Where have you been? I missed you.”

No more growls at strangers walking by.
No more warning the squirrels outside
that this was our place.
No more feeling protected
because you slept close enough to hear me breathe.

No more stolen crumbs while cooking dinner.
No more bones bought just because you were a good dog.
No more tennis balls — thousands of them —
and the joy that came with every throw.

Sit.
Paw.
Other paw.
Roll over.
Catch it.
Go get it.

The house is never the same after you’re gone.
And the heart never feels whole again —
it just learns how to carry the missing piece.

All that’s left are the memories.
And the quiet belief
that somehow, in ways I can’t explain,
you’re still by my side.