I love you

July 14, 2025 — 1:23 AM

At 10:00 AM later today I will be losing my dog — my sister — Iberia. It is July 14^th, 2025; she is hurting. This is the right choice. I will not be ashamed of my grief: I love Iberia. Iberia, I love you. I will always miss you.

Thank you for being a part of my life for 9 years. Thank you for being such a very, very good dog. I hope you know how much I love you now, and how much I always will.

I still remember the evening I met you, giving you Benny Bully beef liver treats under your foster family’s table. I still remember how AARCS named you Chloe, but your foster mother was getting super attached to you, maybe to an unhealthy degree; she had already renamed you Sasha, and she seemed like she was planning to keep you if the adoption fell through. I remember going out to the yard, her huge yard, and hearing Fall Out Boy from the neighbours there. I remember the drive home with mom and dad, when they were unsure about you, and largely because of your foster mom’s attitude.

But they said yes, and my sister you became. My real sister. Dad fell in love with you the second you came home, when he took your carrier into the back yard.

I remember laying in the grass with you. I remember so many afternoons listening to Folie a Deux on the walk home from school in Grade 9, being excited to see you and sit out in the yard with you. I remember posting about you on my junior high school Instagram the day we got you home.

I remember that time when the fence was being built — I accidentally dropped your leash, and you almost ran away! But I played dead, and you came back to check on me. I remember dad running down the back lane to catch you another time you got out of the yard, before you learned to stay inside the fence. You also chewed through your leash once when mom was sitting outside with you (also during the fence-building era) and so we went to PAWS and got a chain one.

I remember you and your big Rafiki stick that was way too big for you. I remember the little mask of white fur on your face that looked like a heart, or how your baby fur made you look like a lamb. I remember getting fancy cookies for you for your birthday, or just because. I remember taking you into PAWS, and letting you sniff all the treat bins. I can’t even remember the brand name, but I do remember your heart cookies.

I remember your chewy bones and rings or the first time you had one of those big T-rex bones. I remember pupsicles, and ice cubes, and how you loved to share strawberries right from the plant with me.

I remember how much you loved to rip open presents at Christmas, or how excited you got when a BarkBox came because you were looking forward to all the yummy treats. I remember how you’d bring the mail downstairs because you loved being helpful and getting rewarded for it.

I remember stuffing Kong toys for you. Cuddling with you, you laying on my bed. Laying with Everest. I know you two loved each other just as much as I loved both of you, and still do.

I remember how excited and happy you were to see me when I came home from Québec. You were still just a puppy then, and you scratched the heck out of me. Mom took you around back and had me sit on the porch and you made a beeline right for me. I’m glad you did.

You were happy any time I came home. Especially from a trip — like from Bamfield, or from Ohio.

There are lots of things about you I remember. These are all things I will continue to remember.

I remember your donut collar, or your silly PJs, when you kept having that leg rash because you spent a lot of time licking yourself. I remember putting your PJs on, or cleaning your hot spot with chlorhexidine, or giving you your antibiotics, or putting the topical steroid cream (the same one I use for my eczema) on you.

I remember the X-rays, about a month ago now.

…But I don’t want to think about them. I just want to think about you. You as you are. As you will be. You and your pretty brown eyes that always have looked so sad. Eyes I always joked were like model eyes, eyes that had that perfect in-built winged eyeliner. Maybelline? Hell no — you were born with it.

You always loved me. I hope you know I’ll always love you.

I hope you know how much I always have.

I’m sorry you’re in pain. I know you can’t breathe much anymore, or sleep anymore — the vet said that whatever you have, it’s aggressive. That was last month. We don't have the funds to get you properly diagnosed — nearly seven grand — let alone to try treatment. And is it really fair to put you through all that? ...I’ve seen your face change as the nasal tumor has grown. I’ve seen how you’ve stopped liking having your face touched, how things don’t excite you like they used to anymore. I’ve heard your ragged rales and rhonchi, or how the noises you make when you eat have gotten louder and more worrisome.

I’m sorry that I’m so selfish, that I want you to stay.

You know, when I was a kid, I had a whole set of Supergirl stuff. Pyjamas, that I got my dad to sew a handmade cape onto. Then, a real pink Supergirl cape. My first “favourite character” was probably Krypto the Superdog, back in kindergarten.

You’re kind of like my Superdog.

Thank you for everything. Thank you for all your puppy mischief and all your years of love. I don’t think I can ever throw out that journal you ate that big chunk of.

Thank you for seeing me through university. Thank you for being you.

Thank you for making my family happy. Thank you for being my family. Thanks for being my sister; my real sister, the one who loves me. The one I love. The one who’s a good person.

Hell, thanks for peeing on my bed. I think it’s common practice by now. I’d take you doing that over the human one any day.

I know you’re very tired now. I don’t mean to keep you, not from the rest you deserve. You’ve done your job. Let us do ours.

When you get where you’re going, say hi to Everest for me. I’m sure you’ll have lots to talk about. Say hi to everybody, really. I’m sure they’re all waiting for you — Minuit, Cashew, Nyx. Even the ones you haven’t met — Indy, Bear, Thumper.

I’ll see you later, okay? Don’t let me keep you. Life isn’t that long, all things considered.

And hey, Ibi?

Just remember I love you.