Fig, my joyful mess, my clumsy miracle.
You were laughter in motion,
a tail that knocked over everything,
a face that made strangers smile.

You never walked in a straight line—
your feet tangled with your own joy.
You chased your tail, then forgot why.
You fell off the couch,
then acted like you meant to do it.

Now, you are a dog with rainbow giggles,
bounding through the sky,
ears flapping like wings as you fly across
the pet rainbow bridge.
Crossing the rainbow bridge,
you probably tripped on your own paws—
but I bet you laughed,
the way you always did.

This dog loss is different.
It’s not just quiet—it’s the absence of joy,
the silence where your silly spirit once bounced.
I miss your chaos.
I miss how you made life lighter
without ever trying.

In memory of my dog,
I promise to laugh more,
to chase joy like you chased bees.
And when my time comes,
I know you’ll greet me—not with solemn stillness,
but with that big, crooked grin,
ready to fall into my arms again.