Onyx, my quiet guardian, my watchful soul.
You didn’t follow blindly,
and I loved you for it.
You chose your moments—
to sit beside me, to nuzzle once, then walk away.
You weren’t loud with your love.
You were steady, sure,
a silent promise in a noisy world.

You watched from the corner of the room,
not needing attention,
just making sure I was okay.
And somehow, I always was—
because you were there.

Now you are a dog with rainbow dignity,
stepping with grace across the pet rainbow bridge,
crossing the rainbow bridge on your own terms,
calm, unhurried, eyes forward.
No fear. No doubt.
Just peace.

This dog loss doesn’t scream—
it lingers.
Like the way you used to rest your chin
on the arm of the couch
without ever asking for anything in return.

In memory of my dog,
I light a candle and say nothing—
because you taught me
that silence can be sacred too.

And when my time comes,
I know you’ll be there,
not racing toward me,
but waiting, still and patient,
knowing I’ll find my way
to the only place that ever felt truly safe—
next to you.