You will inevitably think, "Should I have done more?" "Did I wait too long to put them down?" "Was that last walk too short?" Stop. You loved them. You fed them. You let them sleep on the bed even when they snored like a chainsaw. They lived a life of silly, unconditional luxury because of you. That is the only statistic that matters.
So, put down the bag of frozen peas. Go outside. Look at the sky. And remember: dogs are not a loan; they are a gift we never truly own. Their little lives just slip through your fingers like sand, leaving only happy, muddy paw prints on your heart. And that, somehow, is worth every single tear. Now, go have a glass of water. You’re dehydrated from crying. I promise it helps.
