Andrew, my gentleman, my velvet-pawed friend.
You never rushed, never demanded.
You waited.
By the door.
At my side.
In my silence.

You greeted guests with a nod of your head,
not a bark.
You sat beside me,
not because you wanted anything,
but because you knew I needed
the kind of love that didn’t ask.

Now, you are a dog with rainbow grace,
crossing the rainbow bridge with poise—
shoulders lifted, tail calm,
as if you knew the path long before I did.

On the pet rainbow bridge,
I imagine you sitting beneath a tree,
watching the sky,
waiting for me
as you always did—
without impatience,
without question.

This dog loss feels like missing the click of your nails
on the hardwood floor,
or the quiet way you curled behind the couch
while I read late into the night.

In memory of my dog,
I wear your name in my chest like a medal.
Because you, Andrew,
taught me that love can be quiet
and still echo for a lifetime.

When my last chapter ends,
I know you’ll be there—
not running,
just standing tall,
a gentleman as always,
ready to escort me home.