Tuffy, my golden lab, my companion for nine years, taught me something I’m still learning – how to live in the moment, how to love without conditions, how to be childlike without being self-conscious. His recent passing still feels like disbelief. It still feels like he’s gone to daycare while we’re on vacation.

This is what life is teaching us, I feel – to live like dogs do. Fully present, fully joyful, fully here.

With humans, I can’t be that way. I hold back. I perform. I worry about how I’m perceived. But with Tuffy? I could be silly. I could talk in that voice I use only for dogs, sing songs that made no sense, play games that were just ours. I could sit on the floor with him and forget about everything else.

He brought out the childlike part of me I thought I’d lost.

Tuffy didn’t need me the way I needed him. He was content. Emotionally mature. He trusted me. He didn’t need constant affection or reassurance – he just wanted to be near. I was more of a “Velcro” human to him. I’d put his bed wherever I was working, wherever I was doing things. He slept on his bed. I would just feel happy looking at him and calling out to him every now and then. In response, Tuffy would open his eyes or wag his tail, as if to say he loved me too.

And somehow, that was everything for me.

I remember how excited he’d get when I’d take him for walks, how happy he would be to welcome me every time I opened the front door and walked in. He loved bringing his toys to me and to play with him.

And I remember the last time.

Even when he was in pain – on what would be his last visit to the ER, though we didn’t know it then – he waited for me in the garage. My husband was walking with him toward the car, and I had to go back to get something. Tuffy stopped and turned to look at me. He wouldn’t budge. He turned back, waiting for me, looking out for me despite being in pain. I find that so emotional – his love for me, even in that moment. It was a habit he had. He wanted all family members to walk together with him. Not one ahead, not one behind. He found such joy in that togetherness.

What Tuffy taught me goes beyond the grief. He showed me what it means to live in presence – to find joy in simple things, to simply love, to trust without needing proof, to be fully here in each moment.

That’s the lesson. That’s what I carry forward.

Thank you, Tuffy, for teaching me how to live. For showing me what unconditional love looks like. For bringing out the best, most childlike, most joyful parts of me.

You can never be replaced. You will never be replaced.

I’ll honor you through the choices I make from what you’ve taught me. Somehow every time I think of you, I don’t end up feeling sad – rather a smile, a happiness in how you lived, what you taught us, our beautiful times together.

Thank you, Tuffy, for everything. I love you.