You weren’t just a dog, just a pet. You were my best friend, as cliché as it sounds. Whenever anything happened, good or bad, I knew you would be there, big brown eyes watching me, little ears perked up on the side of your white teddy-bear face, curly tail just wagging furiously.

You died 33 days before your 13th birthday, surrounded by those who loved you and encompassed in your green fuzzy blanket. It was our living room blanket, but really, it was yours. You loved that damn blanket, and we loved you. Your passing came incredibly sudden and honestly I’m still in shock over it.

I’ve known you your whole life, but you were not always ours. You lived across the street to the right in a house on the hill with a big fenced-in yard. We were friends with your original owners, a nice little family with a new baby and you: a cute, white, fluffy puppy. I fell in love with you the moment I met you. You were a tiny little white fluff ball with big brown eyes, hyper and always willing to play, sweet as can be and a name to prove it: Sweet Pea. I was six when I met you, and nine when you became mine.

Your family fell apart, and you were left behind. Literally, in the backyard. Out of my family, I was the one who went across the street and fed you, gave you water, and played with you. It wasn’t long before I was begging my parents to take you; you looked awful. Your beautiful white fur was brown and so matted you could barely walk. Honestly, as bad as you were, my family was in worse shape. 2008 hit my family like a tidal wave, but when my parents saw you, they had to take you in. Very soon we realized you had saved us more than we saved you.

You were a Havanese, the national dog of Cuba. Your breed descends from the Poodle, the Maltese, and the Bichon Frise. You were cute but definitely weird looking with short little legs on a long body. But you were mine. Your birthday just happened to be the birthday of the late grandfather I never met. A few years ago we discovered you had a heart murmur. I was born with 3 heart murmurs, even having heart surgery to correct one when I was a baby. You and I connected in every aspect, even down to our hearts.

My family and I were blessed with 12 beautiful years completely enriched by your presence. We all had a special relationship with you, since you truly were a special dog. Every person whoever met you fell in love with you. Despite your troubled puppyhood, you didn’t have a mean bone in your body. Every ounce of your being truly was set on making those around you happier.

Even though you were the most precious dog, truth be told- you could be annoying as hell. Due to your toy breed, you really enjoyed laying on the top of the sofa to get a better viewpoint of everything. And I’ll be damned if you didn’t give a little growl every time I laid my head back, on my own sofa! You would always just crawl all over me, from one end of the sofa to next, regardless if I had something in my lap or not. I swear, sometimes you could never make up your damned mind. When we suddenly had to put you down last week, I really felt so guilty for ever getting annoyed with you. Since you were here one minute and gone the next, I’ve really been angry with myself. Truthfully, you could be annoying. But I loved you to death and I wouldn’t change anything about my time with you.

I love you and miss you like crazy. Every day has gotten worse with the realization truly sinking in that you are really gone. 3 weeks ago I would be typing this article with one hand petting you, but here we are. Death is never convenient and definitely never planned. You were my first dog, but certainly not my last. Right now, this really sucks and I just want you here again, but you started suffering and that was the last thing in the world I wanted for you. There’s nothing like living with a dog (we don’t own them, they truly own us), and building that relationship with them. I know I will miss you for the rest of my life, but I am so grateful you were a part of it.

I love you Sweet Pea, and I know I’ll see you again.