The Letter from the ashes

During a recent thetapy dog visit we met her in the quiet lounge of the nursing home, a place where soft music drifts like a hymn and the smell of coffee mingles with faint disinfectant. Her hair was white, her hands folded in her lap, yet when she spoke, her voice carried the strength of… Continue reading The Letter from the ashes

They Know Your Leaving

It starts before you ever touch the zipper of your suitcase. Your dog senses the shift in the air. The house feels different when you are preparing to go. The rhythm of your footsteps changes, quicker, more purposeful. The scent of fresh laundry drifts from the bedroom, mixing with the faint metallic tang of the… Continue reading They Know Your Leaving

The Language of Strangers

The hospital smelled of polished floors and something sterile that lingered in the back of the throat. Voices floated in and out of the hallways, half finished conversations echoing against cold walls. People passed one another quietly, their eyes sliding away, each carrying their own bundle of secrets and burdens. Strangers, all of them. Quinn’s… Continue reading The Language of Strangers

Puzzle Solved

Quinn was a complicated puppy until we discovered that play time had to be added to his training… that solved the puzzle ❤️🙏

Puzzle Solved

Quinn was a complicated puppy until we discovered that play time had to be added to his training… that solved the puzzle ❤️🙏

When Rejection Knocks

The evening carried a certain weight. Shadows stretched across the living room floor, and the last rays of sunlight brushed the walls in a soft amber glow. My tea sat untouched on the table, no longer steaming, its faint bitter scent lingering in the air. The silence was thick, almost heavy, wrapping itself around me… Continue reading When Rejection Knocks

With The End in Mind

The sun streamed through the kitchen window, the same way it did in my grandmother’s house, where lace curtains swayed in the summer breeze and the scent of cinnamon rolls clung to the air. I can still see her hands, weathered, steady, always busy kneading dough or shelling peas, and hear her voice, soft but… Continue reading With The End in Mind

The Quiet Strength

The hospice room was hushed, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the blinds, scattering golden bars of light across Margaret’s bed. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, shimmering like tiny spirits keeping vigil. The only sound was her breathing, uneven and wet, the gurgling that told her… Continue reading The Quiet Strength