Just a month ago, my dog Stella made coming home the best part of my day. Her tail pounding the floor and her body trembling with joy, as if my return was the best thing in her world. Although now the same door opens, and the house looks the same, but without my dog, everything feels empty.                  

I still catch myself waiting for her paws to scratch the backdoor or for her to race over to the food I dropped on the floor. In reality, the backdoor hasn’t been touched in weeks and the food lies in the trash.                    

Still, the memories of her joy linger, filling the silence with echoes of her love.         

Everyday she reminded me that joy could be found in the smallest things. Sitting in the grass together watching ducks walk by the neighbors yard and cuddling up in her fur whenever I wanted to.              

Her absence made me realize how much happiness was built around her love.                                                                    

When we first got her, my dad walked in with a dog fitting the outline of his hand perfectly. I thought she would stay that size forever, but when she outgrew me at age 4, I was proven wrong.                       

Because of her size, she would always block the hallways when I wanted to pass, and take up the whole bed while I slept, causing me to contort myself or curl up in a ball. “The bigger the dog the bigger the heart,” people always said. The little things that would bother me, now I’d do anything to get them back .

When I come home now, silence greets me instead of her wagging tail, but in my heart I still see and feel her rushing towards me bursting with love. Maybe the gift that she’s left me was the fact that even in her absence I can still feel her unconditional love and the impact she left on me and my family.