02/28/2026
Grief is such a strange animal. It hides in the sunshine.
Today I woke up excited. Blue sky. Crisp air. New puppy energy ricocheting off the walls. Anya was ready for a big hike, and I was ready to give it to her. And then, out of nowhere, the weight hit.
Derbi should be here. I missed him so hard I had to sit down and cry (still crying as I post). We said goodbye on December 30th and the hole in my heart is still so big.
Derbi was my heart dog. The wiggles. The endless spins. The unfiltered joy. No matter what life threw at him, he chose happiness.
And life threw a lot.
Two ruptured discs — the first one only discovered when he went into surgery for the second. Discospondylitis. Then degenerative myelopathy — essentially ALS for dogs. If resilience was a visible barometer his would have been 110%.
His spirit didn’t flicker. He got up. He kept trying to walk. He took on the wheelchair like it was just another adventure. He loved life. He loved me.
That kind of love rewires you.
Nothing replaces a dog like that. Nothing is supposed to.
Grief doesn’t cancel joy. It just sits beside it. You can be excited about a new puppy and still feel like your chest is cracking open because someone else isn’t there. Both are true. Our hearts are big enough for both, the ache and the sunshine.
I’m going to wipe my face. I’m going to leash up Anya. I’m going to go outside. Because Derbi taught me that. Get up. Try again. Spin anyway. Love the day anyway.
If you’ve loved and lost a dog, you know. They’re not “just dogs.” They are chapters of our lives, they are part of us and who we are.
