This is Kona.
She wasn’t just a dog. She was the kind of soul that walks into your life quietly, and somehow, without trying, fills all the empty corners of your heart. I had the honor of fostering her years ago. Back then, she came to me uncertain, her eyes searching for safety, unsure of who to trust. But even in her hesitation, there was a gentleness—a quiet strength that whispered, “I want to love again.”
And love she did.
Kona wasn’t loud. She didn’t demand attention. But she had a way of leaning her head on your leg at just the right moment, of resting beside you in silence that said more than words ever could. She carried a warmth that made you feel like everything was going to be okay.
After her time with me, Kona found her forever family. A family who saw in her the same magic I did. They gave her everything she had ever longed for—warmth, safety, joy, and a home where she would never again have to wonder if she belonged.
She spent her days basking in the sun, chasing butterflies in the backyard, and curling up at her family’s feet. Her humans adored her, and she adored them right back. The bond they shared was beautiful, quiet, and full of trust. She had found her place in the world—and it was filled with love.
But today… her family had to say goodbye.
Her body, though once strong and graceful, grew tired. Her steps slowed, and her breaths came softer. The vet said there was nothing more they could do. And so, surrounded by the people who loved her most, Kona closed her eyes and let go.
Today, an angel got her wings.
I wasn’t there physically, but my heart was with her. And I know—I just know—that as she crossed the rainbow bridge, her tail wagged one last time. Not out of pain, not out of fear, but in peace. She knew she was loved until her very last breath.
To her family: thank you for giving her the love she so deeply deserved. Thank you for holding her when it mattered most, for whispering that she was a good girl, that she was safe, that she could rest now.
And to Kona: fly free, sweet girl.
I’ll always remember the way you looked up at me with those soft eyes the day we first met. I’ll always remember how you slowly came out of your shell, learning that love didn’t have to hurt. You were brave. You were gentle. You were light.
Can someone please add angel wings to her photo?
Because she has them now.
And she’s soaring, pain-free, watching over all of us—especially the family who made her final years so full of love.
Goodbye for now, Kona.
You’ll never be forgotten.
And someday, we’ll meet again.
