April 06 205

I’ve avoided talking about my baby dog, Aldo, crossing the rainbow bridge for the longest time, maybe because I haven’t healed, and maybe I never truly will.

The hardest part of losing a pet is trying to explain the grief to people who don’t understand that pets are part of the family too. Some of my friends will never get it and some even laughed about it. That’s the sad reality of the world I live in.

It breaks my heart that Aldo left me at a time when many of my friends are having their first, second, or even third babies. I’m not jealous,
but I am very sad, and I cry often.

I know putting him down was in his best interest. He was in so much pain—whining all night and day, pacing in cycles—clear signs that his time was near. He was 12 years old, a beautiful husky. I knew the end was close, so I took him to another vet, Happy Japan Clinic. They were very kind and told me he could live a bit longer if he continued taking painkillers for his weak hips. They also said his heart was still okay, which contradicted what the previous vet had diagnosed. I felt confused—and I still hate myself for not trying harder to find more opinions beyond the few vets I visited.

On April 6, 2025, I knew I had to make the heartbreaking decision to let him go, to free him from the pain. But he was scared and kept looking to me for comfort. I was torn. I held him as they injected the anesthesia, and he took his final breath in my arms. I’ve never cried so hard or so loudly in my life.

I feel empty. But life goes on. I still walk and run the same routes, at the same times, just as we used to. I try to run more now—to honor my baby. Because when I run, I feel like he’s still running beside me.