Miro, my cloud-gazer, my soft-footed dreamer.
You were never just a dog.
You were wind wrapped in fur,
a soul too gentle for noise,
too magical for this world.

You never barked at strangers—
you watched them like stars,
as if seeing the past and future in their steps.
You slept with your head tilted to the sky,
as though angels whispered secrets only you could hear.

I remember the night we found you trembling in the rain—
you wouldn’t run from the storm,
only stared into it, calm as dusk.
That was the night I knew:
you didn’t belong entirely here.

Now you are a dog with rainbow,
drifting among constellations only you understood.
You crossed the rainbow bridge like mist at dawn—
quiet, radiant, leaving behind not just silence,
but wonder.

The pet rainbow bridge was made for souls like yours—
soft, light, untethered by sorrow.
Dog loss doesn’t feel like losing a pet;
it feels like waking from a dream
I never wanted to end.

Miro, my heart aches,
not because you're gone,
but because the world is dimmer without your wonder.
Still, I know you're somewhere,
staring at the clouds that form my thoughts,
waiting to guide me
when it’s my time to cross the rainbow bridge.