It’s hard to put into words the weight in my chest, the silence in my home, the stillness that has settled over everything like a heavy fog. The kind of silence that follows the loss of someone who made even the quiet moments feel full of life. Beola wasn’t just a dog. She was my shadow, my warmth, my greatest comfort on the hardest days. And today, she’s gone.
I still remember the first day I met her. She was just a tiny ball of fluff, trembling in a shelter cage, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and hope. There were dozens of dogs barking around her, but Beola sat silently, watching. When I reached out my hand, she didn’t flinch—she pressed her head gently into my palm. I knew, right then, she was meant for me. Or maybe I was meant for her.
From that day forward, we were inseparable. She followed me from room to room, curled up at my feet when I worked, licked my tears away when I cried. She didn’t speak, but somehow she always understood. When the world became too loud, Beola was the calm. When I was lost, she was the way back.
She loved small things—sunlight on the floor, belly rubs after breakfast, soft music playing in the evenings. She had this way of resting her head on my lap that made every worry disappear. And when she wagged her tail, it wasn’t just a sign of joy—it was a reminder that love still existed, pure and uncomplicated.
But time is a thief.
In the last few months, Beola started slowing down. Her steps were heavier, her naps longer. The vet said it was age. I tried to prepare myself, but how do you ever truly prepare to say goodbye to the one soul who’s loved you without question? Even yesterday, she still tried to wag her tail, even when her body was too tired to stand. She looked at me with those same eyes—so full of love it broke me.
And then, this morning… she didn’t wake up.
I sat beside her for hours. I held her soft, still body in my arms and whispered all the things I didn’t say enough. That she was the best thing that ever happened to me. That she made life better, brighter. That I would never, ever forget her.
There is a bed in the corner of the room that won’t be filled tonight. A leash hanging by the door that won’t be used again. A hundred routines broken. A thousand memories flooding back like waves.
People say she was “just a dog.” But they don’t know what it means to love and be loved by someone like Beola. She didn’t care about my flaws, my failures, or my fears. She loved me anyway. Completely. Quietly. Unconditionally.
And now, though my heart feels shattered, I carry that love with me. Beola may be gone from this world, but she will never be gone from my soul.
Goodbye, my sweet girl. Thank you for everything.
I miss you already.
