Zoey, our sweet family dog. Queen of Pup Cups. Somehow had full comprehension of emotional damage. Like she could smell emotional damage and was personally assigned to fix it!
She got stomach cancer.
STOMACH cancer. Like, the same stupid thing I had but with more tail wagging through it.
I was freshly recovering from my cancer saga, finally feeling like maybe life was getting a little boring in a good way. Zoey starts acting off. At first, we thought maybe she just ate something weird (which, let’s be honest, was highly on brand for her). But no. The vet drops the C bomb.
One last selfie with my girl, Zoey.
This dog, she wasn’t just a pet. She was part of the glue that held us together through everything. Through my own diagnosis, surgeries, the hardest months of my life, she was there. Not in some grand, dramatic way. She just stayed. She curled up next to me, rested her head on my leg like she was saying, “I don’t get it, but I’m here.”
She never asked questions. She didn’t flinch when I looked different. She never once treated me like I was fragile.
She just loved me.
And now we were the ones sitting by her side, doing what she once did for me, being there, not fixing it, just loving her through it.
Saying goodbye was unbearable in the most gentle, quiet kind of way. She laid her head down like she was saying, “You’ve got it from here.”
I don’t know if I believe in perfect timing, but it felt like she waited until we were strong enough. Until I was strong enough.
Zoey was soft comfort in a hard world. A perfect companion when everything was too loud. She gave more than she ever took.
But she was ours. She loved us. And she got us through the worst of it.
And cancer didn’t change that.
We’ll carry that forever.
RIP to the realest. I know they’ve got an unlimited supply of pup cups up there in doggy heaven. I’ll be looking for you in every breeze.
Love you forever girl,
Kam
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