06/07/2025
🕊️ For Oliver
14.02.2017 – 05.07.2025
I still remember the day I rescued you. You came from a home that didn’t know how to love you — scared of humans, fed the wrong food, skinny, fragile, and unsure of the world. It was Valentine’s Day, 8 years ago, when I brought you home. I thought I was saving you, but I didn’t know then how much you would save me.
Those first few nights, you cried. You were afraid to walk around the house, unsure of your safety. Even our touch made you tremble. But you gave us time. Six months in, you began to trust us — cautiously at first, then fully and beautifully. Slowly, your personality emerged: goofy, deeply affectionate, and so wonderfully strange. You weren’t a “normal” dog — you were something rarer. You were a soul companion.
You had a gift for cuddling that no dog handbook could ever explain. How could a dog stay perfectly still in someone’s arms, like he knew the stillness itself was medicine? At some of my life’s lowest moments, you were there. You didn’t ask questions. You offered yourself — your warmth, your presence, your goofiness — as the most generous form of love. You didn’t just make me laugh — you helped me breathe again.
Some people say, “It’s just a dog,” but you were never just anything. You were family. You knew when I was sad before I did. You offered a kind of loyalty and knowing that even many humans never master. I don’t know if I’ll ever want another dog after you — and that’s okay. Some bonds don’t need to be replaced. They simply are, forever.
Thank you, Oliver, for being a great friend to me and to the family. For loving us so deeply. I don’t yet know how your brother Oscar will be without you, but I hope somehow — somewhere — you’re still watching over him. Over all of us.
You left us suddenly, but peacefully — at home, in your favorite hangout spot, surrounded by the world you helped make softer, warmer, and better.
You changed my life.
You were loved every single day.
You always will be.
Rest easy, my little Valentine 🖤
