A Dog’s Last Letter: A Tale of Unconditional Love
When I first opened my eyes in the world, all I saw was my mother’s warm fur and the tiny paws of my brothers and sisters curled beside me. I was a small puppy with soft brown fur and big curious eyes that blinked at every sound and shadow. Every day was a new adventure, chasing tails, nibbling ears, and tumbling in soft straw until we fell asleep in a warm pile.
One day, a tall woman with tired eyes and a voice like thunder walked into the shelter. She smelled of rain and something sharp I couldn’t understand. She reached down and picked me up, holding me close against her chest. I whined, missing the warmth of my mother, but the lady whispered, “Good boy,” and I wanted to be a good boy, so I stayed quiet.
At her home, there was a little boy with golden hair and eyes bright as dawn. His name was Michael. The moment we met, he wrapped his small arms around me, laughing, calling me “Buddy.” From that day, we were inseparable. Michael would take me on long walks, his tiny feet splashing in puddles while I chased after leaves. Sometimes, he would hide behind the bushes, giggling, waiting for me to find him, and when I did, he would reward me with treats that tasted like heaven.
Michael was my world, and I was his shadow. I learned to sit when he asked, to fetch sticks, and to shake paws, earning belly rubs and the words, “Good boy, Buddy.” I chewed his shoes, nibbled on his gloves, and even dug a hole in the garden to bury his toy car, but Michael never stayed angry for long. At night, I would curl beside his bed, listening to his soft breathing, and dreaming of another day with him.
The lady, Michael’s mother, never seemed to understand me the way he did. When I barked to go outside, she would yell, and sometimes, her hands would sting when they met my back. I learned to stay silent, using the floor when I could no longer hold it, watching her face turn red as she scolded me. But Michael would hold me afterward, his tiny hands stroking my ears, telling me it was okay. And in those moments, it felt like everything was.
Then came that night. I had an accident again, and before I could hide, the lady’s angry hands grabbed me. Michael clung to my collar, tears streaming down his cheeks, making soft, pleading sounds I didn’t understand, but I felt the pain in his trembling hands. I tried to lick away his tears, but the lady pulled me from him, and the last thing I saw was Michael’s face, pale in the moonlight, eyes filled with sorrow.
We arrived at the shelter, the familiar scent of sawdust and soap in the air. I thought maybe we were visiting my mother, but she wasn’t there. I turned, expecting the lady to take me back home, to Michael, but she was gone. I waited, wagging my tail each time the door opened, but Michael never came.
Later, a man with kind eyes picked me up, whispering my name softly as he carried me into a quiet room. The table was cold under my paws, and I shivered. The man stroked my fur and told me it would be okay, that I was a good boy, that I would be loved “up there.” I didn’t understand what “up there” meant. All I wanted was Michael, his laughter, his gentle touch, his whispered promises of “forever.”
When the needle touched my paw, it stung, and the world grew cold. I didn’t like the cold, Michael. I tried to look for you, to feel your warmth one last time, but the room grew darker, and the man’s voice was the last thing I heard, telling me I was loved.
If you can hear me, Michael, please know I am still waiting for you. I wait by the rainbow rivers and the golden fields, where I can run and chase butterflies until you arrive. I wait where the lampposts stand tall, ready for me to leave my mark, where every breeze carries the scent of home.
I will wait for you, my boy, forever. Because I was, and will always be, your good boy.
Moral of the Story:
Pets love unconditionally, and their loyalty and memories remain even when they can no longer be by your side.
