Pip, my soft soul, my never-quite-grown pup.
You were never in a rush—
to learn tricks,
to act tough,
to be anything other than exactly who you were.

You looked at the world
like it was always your first spring—
every leaf a toy,
every voice a lullaby.
And when you curled beside me,
I swore time slowed just to stay with you.

Now you are a dog with rainbow wonder,
paws light on the pet rainbow bridge,
crossing the rainbow bridge with a curious tilt of the head,
chasing butterflies made of stars.

I imagine you there,
nose in the clouds,
tail wagging at angels,
as if asking, “Wanna play?”

This dog loss cuts like a quiet goodbye
at a train station no one else can see.
Not dramatic—just wrong,
because I never thought the world would go on
without your paws in it.

In memory of my dog,
I keep your favorite ball in the drawer,
still shaped by your teeth,
still filled with joy.

And I promise—
when I cross the bridge,
I’ll bring it with me.
We’ll pick up right where we left off.