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I “borrowed” this post from my friend, Richard Ray.
He’s as close to a true Renaissance man as I know personally.
He’s a gifted photographer, a brilliant communicator, a thoughtful, sensitive and kind human being.
Best of all, like me, he loves dogs!
So, today, I dare you to read this on the air.
To pause, if you have to, when your voice breaks with emotion, to share it all with your listeners.
I think it will get the biggest listener response of anything you’ve done on-air in years!
Especially because it makes you cry…
~
The hardest part of life with a dog isn’t what you think.
It’s not bundling up to go outside with them in the pouring rain, in the freezing dark, when you’re exhausted, in pain, or your soul is restless.
It’s not giving up trips or turning down invitations because you won’t leave them behind.
It’s not the hair—on your sheets, your lips, your food.
It’s not mopping the floor again, fully aware it’ll be dirty thirty minutes later.
It’s not the vet bills, or the constant worry you might miss something important.
It’s not the loss of freedom—because now freedom means “us.”
And it’s not even that your heart no longer fully belongs to you.
All of that is love. All of that is life. All of that is a choice you made.
The hardest part comes slowly, like an old ache in broken bones.
Like the kind of cold that seeps through you without warning and settles deep inside.
One day, you just notice it—your dog can’t do what they used to. They try, they always try, but it’s not the same.
They run to you like they always have, but slower.
Their eyes are the same, but now there’s something in them—a quiet, tired “I’m still here, but it’s getting harder.”
And you remember who they were. And you look at who they’ve become—still yours, completely, trusting you with every ounce of their soul.
They’ve always believed you’d be there, that you’d help, that you’d save them. And you were.
But now you can’t save them from time.
The hardest part is knowing that while they were your comfort, your light, your safe place… you were their entire world. Their everything. Their sky. Their hope.
And you’re not ready. Not ready to let go. Not ready to watch the one who taught you how to live slowly fade away.
And then comes the silence. Heavy. Deafening.
An empty spot on the pillow. A bowl that no one licks clean. A heart that feels like it’s been torn open.
And the same familiar walk… just without them. And you catch yourself whispering into the empty air, “Come on, buddy.”
But if I could turn back time, I’d choose them all over again. Every bit of it. The pain. The sleepless nights. The love.
Because that love was real.
Bringing a dog into your life is like letting a small flame into your soul. A flame that will warm you forever—even after it’s gone.
A dog has one purpose in life: to give you their whole heart.
– J.R. Ackerly
