People say a dog is “just a pet.” I used to hear that all the time. But when you grow up with one, they are never just anything. They are a part of your routine, your family and your memories. They are present on the most normal days that eventually become the ones you miss the most.
For me, my dog Chloe was my first real experience with love. Not the kind of love you see in movies. Not dramatic or complicated. Just constant. Quiet. Always there.
When I was younger, Chloe honestly did not even like me. I used to chase her around the house and try to force her to cuddle with me. I wanted her attention so badly that I did not realize I was probably annoying her. The more I tried to grab Chloe and make her sit with me, the more she avoided me. At the time, I did not understand why.
As I got older, something shifted. I stopped chasing her. I let her be. I stopped trying to make her love me and just gave her space. Slowly, she began coming to me on her own terms. She would sit next to me. She would jump on me when I walked through the door after school. It felt different because it was not forced. It felt like she chose me. That is what made it so special.
Looking back, Chloe was probably the first one to teach me that love cannot be forced, and rather, it grows when you give it room to.
Some of my favorite memories with her are the simplest ones. On Fridays, when my mom would pick me up, sometimes Chloe would be in the car too. I would open the door and feel this little rush of happiness when I saw her there. It sounds small, but those tiny surprises meant everything to me. Seeing her at the end of a long week quickly made everything better.
Additionally, she was also our guard dog whether we needed one or not. If anyone walked around our neighborhood, she would bark nonstop. We always knew when someone was outside because Chloe refused to stay quiet. It used to annoy me sometimes, but now I would give anything to hear her bark again. It made our house feel safe.
And if my mom hugged or kissed me, she would start barking like she wanted to be included. It was almost like she was jealous of the attention. Chloe always wanted her share of the love. That was just who she was.
One of the most random things about her was her obsession with strollers. Every time Chloe saw one, she would jump straight into the bottom basket that is meant for bags. It did not matter what was in it. If there was a stroller that space belonged to Chloe. It became an inside joke. Whenever she was around, that basket was not for storage. It was for her.
That was Chloe being Chloe. She had her own little quirks and habits, and those tiny things are what I look back on the most.
Since losing Chloe, it has been insanely hard for me to cope. I still get sad when I think about her. Sometimes it hits randomly, like when the house feels too quiet without her footsteps or her barking. Sometimes I still expect to see her in her usual spot. Grief is strange like that. It does not follow a schedule. It just shows up.
What makes her loss so hard is that she was there for every version of me growing up. Every phase. Every awkward stage. Every stressful moment. Chloe was constant when everything else felt like it was changing. Losing that kind of presence leaves a space that feels impossible to fill.
But at the same time, loving Chloe changed me. She taught me patience. She taught me that love goes naturally when you stop trying to control it. She taught me that being chosen feels better than forcing someone to stay. And although Chloe is no longer physically here anymore, her love is.
That is the thing about pets. They may start as an animal in your house, but over time, they become part of who you are. She became part of who I am. When they are gone, it hurts more than you expect. But the bonds do not disappear. They remain in our memories, the lessons and the way you understand love for the rest of your life.
Chloe may be gone, but her love never left.
