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Good Puppy Guide, 4439 Gale Street, Livermore, CA (2025)

08/23/2025

Dear Buddy,

I don’t know how to start this without crying, but I guess that’s okay because my whole day has been nothing but tears. You were with me for 12 years, and yet, it feels like it all went by in a blink.

I keep remembering the first day I brought you home. You were this clumsy ball of fur who tripped over his own paws. You slept on my chest that night, and from then on, you became the rhythm of my life. Every routine, every habit, every little thing I did—somehow, it always included you.

But today, I had to let you go. I held you in my arms at the vet’s office as your breathing slowed, and I whispered, “It’s okay, you can rest now.” I tried to be strong for you, but the truth is, I’ve never felt so broken.

The house is so quiet without you. No nails clicking on the floor. No bark at the window when the mailman comes. Your bed is still in the corner, untouched, and I don’t have the strength to move it.

I don’t know if dogs go to heaven, but if they do, I hope you’re running free, chasing butterflies, and eating all the treats you want. And when my time comes, I hope you’ll be the first one I see waiting for me.

Thank you for loving me unconditionally. Thank you for being my family, my best friend, and my heart.

I miss you more than words could ever say.

Forever yours,
Me.

08/23/2025

The rain was tapping softly against the window when Emily knelt down on the living room floor. Her old dog, Jasper, lay on the blanket she had spread out, his breathing slow and uneven.

“Hey, old man,” she whispered, running her hand along his gray muzzle. His tail gave the faintest thump against the fabric, and for a moment, she almost pretended he was fine. Almost.

Jasper had been with her through everything—college, her first apartment, even the heartbreaks she thought she wouldn’t survive. He was always there, waiting by the door, tail wagging, eyes full of love.

Now, his eyes were tired. But they still searched for hers, as if asking for permission.

Emily bit her lip, the words catching in her throat. Finally, she whispered, “You can rest now, buddy. I’ll be okay. I promise.”

His breathing slowed. One final sigh left his chest, and then—silence.

The rain outside grew heavier, like the sky itself was mourning with her. Emily pressed her forehead against Jasper’s still fur, sobbing into the quiet, her heart breaking at the reality she never wanted to face: her best friend was gone.

08/23/2025

Dear Charlie,

I never thought I’d have to write this. I always imagined you’d just… be here. Always greeting me at the door, always wagging your tail like the whole world had finally arrived home.

The silence without you is crushing. Your leash still hangs by the door, waiting for walks we’ll never take again. Your blanket is still on the couch, holding the shape of your little body, as if you’ll jump back up at any moment. But you won’t. And that truth is breaking me in ways I can’t explain.

You weren’t just my dog—you were my best friend, my comfort on nights when the world felt too heavy, my reason to smile when I thought I’d forgotten how. You never judged, never left, never gave anything less than your whole heart.

I hope, wherever you are, you’re running free. I hope the fields are endless, the sun is warm, and there’s no more pain. I hope you know that every single day with you was a gift I will never stop being grateful for.

Goodbye, my sweet boy. I’ll carry you in my heart for as long as it beats.

Love,
Me

08/23/2025

Today feels unbearable. The house is so quiet, but not the peaceful kind of quiet—the hollow kind. I woke up and reached for the floor beside my bed, expecting to feel soft fur and the warmth of the little body that always slept curled against me. My hand met nothing but cold air. That was the moment I remembered all over again—you’re gone.

I made coffee, and for the first time in years, no paws clicked against the kitchen tiles. No hopeful eyes begging for a piece of toast. I sat at the table alone, staring at your empty bowl, wondering how something so small could hold such an enormous presence.

I keep asking myself—did you know how much you meant to me? Did you know you saved me? When I was falling apart, when I had no one, you were there. You gave me laughter in the middle of tears, love in the middle of loneliness.

Now I keep walking into rooms and expecting you. I still half-turn my head when I hear the wind at the door, thinking it’s you scratching to come inside. But it never is. And that’s when the ache starts again.

I buried you under the oak tree, the one you loved to nap beneath. I placed your favorite toy beside you, because I couldn’t bear to send you off without it. I stood there for hours, talking to the dirt as if you could still hear me. Maybe you can.

The truth is, I don’t know how to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it. But for you—for the love you gave me—I’ll try.

08/22/2025

Dear Shadow,

I don’t know how to start this, because writing to you feels like writing into silence. You’re not lying at my feet anymore. You’re not watching me with those patient eyes, waiting for me to say the magic word—“walk.”

I still hear you in the house. Every creak of the floor makes me think you’re coming around the corner. I still look for you in the passenger seat when I drive. It hurts every time I remember you’re not there.

You were more than a dog. You were the one who sat with me on the nights I thought I couldn’t keep going. You pressed your head into my chest when I cried, and in your quiet way, you reminded me I wasn’t alone.

The day you left, I felt the world collapse in on itself. I held you until your breathing stopped, whispering that I loved you. I hope that’s the last thing you heard.

Now, all I can do is carry you with me—in every walk I take alone, in every empty spot on the bed, in every sunset we used to watch together. I love you still, and I always will.

Goodbye, my best friend.
Until we meet again.

08/22/2025

Agree I’m 59 and on my 3rd. I had to wait 5 yrs after I had to let my fist one cross over. This my 3rd Sabrina. She’s 12 I’ll get another quickly when she passes. Being without a German Shepard is like missing a hand.
Credit: Ron Povich Jr.

08/22/2025

Y'all please pray for my baby Theo! He's in emergency surgery to remove his leg because they found so many abseses on his right back leg. He's only 4 months old and we just want him to make it through. Please pray for him to make it through surgery. We lost our 7 year old GSD in June and I got this one against my husbands wishes but he quickly fell in love. We are all just devastated. Please pray with all your might.
credit goes to respective owner

08/22/2025

Send some love to this old man.🎂
Happy 20th Birthday, Henry ❤🎉

08/22/2025

Fly high sweet little angel 💓 you will be forever loved and missed.

He had his front leg amputated after growing a very nasty tumor in November last year but unfortunately the cancer had spread.. 😪 very much missed 💔

Credits to:
Robyn Butterworth

08/21/2025

April 3rd
The vet told me today that Luna doesn’t have much time left. I nodded as if I understood, but when I looked down at her tired eyes, I felt like a child about to lose their whole world.

April 10th
She doesn’t play with her toys anymore. The ball she once carried everywhere just lies in the corner. I tried rolling it toward her, hoping she’d fetch it like she used to, but she only wagged her tail weakly, as if saying, “I remember, but I can’t.”

April 18th
Every night I hear her nails tapping softly across the floor, slower than they used to be. She still follows me from room to room, but now she collapses into her bed as soon as I sit down. I never realized how much comfort that sound gave me—until now, when I know it’s fading.

April 25th
Today she didn’t get up to greet me at the door. For twelve years, no matter how late I came home, she was always there—tail wagging, eyes shining. But tonight she stayed curled up, too tired to move. I knelt beside her and cried into her fur, begging her not to go.

May 1st
She left me this morning. Quietly, in her sleep. The silence in the house feels unbearable. Her bowls are still full. Her leash still hangs by the door. Her bed still smells like her. I don’t know how to erase any of it.

May 7th
I visited her grave under the maple tree. I spoke out loud as if she could still hear me. Maybe she can. Maybe that’s what love does—it lingers, even after the heartbeat is gone.😓😥😥

08/21/2025

I never meant to fall in love with a dog. I told myself I was just fostering him, just giving him a roof until someone else came along. But from the moment he pressed his nose into my hand, I knew I was already his.

I called him Rowan. He wasn’t perfect—he chewed through shoes, barked at shadows, and left muddy paw prints on everything I owned. But he was mine, and he filled the silence of my small apartment with laughter and warmth.

As the years passed, Rowan became my shadow. He was there when I cried after heartbreak, there when I celebrated small victories, there in the stillness of every night. His eyes always said what words never could: “I’m here. I love you.”

Time, though, is cruel. His muzzle turned gray, his legs grew weak, and soon the stairs he once bounded up became mountains he could no longer climb. I carried him when I could, but I couldn’t carry the sickness that slowly stole him from me.

The last night, he lay in my lap, his chest rising and falling with effort. I whispered every thank-you I could think of—thank you for the love, for the comfort, for teaching me what loyalty truly means. And when he finally exhaled that last shaky breath, the world went so quiet it hurt.

I buried him beneath the old oak tree, the spot where he used to chase squirrels and roll in the grass. Sometimes I still catch myself setting down an extra bowl of food, or holding open the door a little longer, waiting for paws that will never come running.

He was “just a dog” to some people. But to me, Rowan was my home. And now that he’s gone, I’m still learning how to live without the sound of his paws on the floor.

08/21/2025

Ethan never thought a dog could change his life, but when he found the thin, trembling shepherd mix at the park, everything shifted. He named her Harper, and from that day on, they were inseparable. She followed him on road trips, curled up on his bed at night, and sat at his feet while he worked late into the evening.

Years passed like chapters in a book. Harper grew older, slower, her once-bright eyes clouding. Ethan pretended not to notice, because to admit she was fading meant admitting a piece of himself was slipping away too.

One stormy night, Harper struggled to stand. Ethan lay beside her on the living room floor, whispering the same words he had whispered when she was just a frightened stray: “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.” Her breathing slowed, her paw rested in his hand… and then, silence.

Ethan stayed there until morning, still holding her paw, knowing the house would never sound the same again.

The world kept moving, but for Ethan, every quiet moment carried the echo of Harper’s footsteps that would never return.

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