My best friend just died 30 minutes ago. The foot of my bed is empty. My stomach hurts, my body shakes. February 28th is the day, the day I lost my best friend. I’m sleeping alone tonight. I walk to the kitchen alone tonight. I walk into the house and can't help but notice who's missing, who's gone. And she's not coming back. My last memory of her was lifting her dead body into a garbage bag. Intestines everywhere. Limp. Immobile. I get excited to cry so I can feel better, but then I remember it doesn’t feel better. She's not coming back. My head hurts. My heart hurts.

I sprint down the neighborhood in disbelief. I prayed as I ran. The brisk, late winter wind was strangling the air out of my lungs as I gasped but continued to run. “Please God,” I said aloud. My prayers were ignored. It was Molly. Laying down on her side. Then hope entered my soul, only to be immediately terminated by the sight blood. The site of three feet of intestines hanging out of her stung my eyes, clinging to my conscience like a leech. She looked healthy everywhere else. Everywhere besides her cut open abdomen, where the life seemed to have seeped out of her. Why couldn't she just listen and stay in the yard like a normal dog? Her tail wag is what got me out of bed in the morning. Not anymore. How can I get out of bed now. My empty bed. I feel guilty even thinking of replacing her. She knew me better than anybody. Dogs aren't stupid. They know what goes on.

The only thing that feels good is to write. Knowing my emotions will never be forgotten now. Or Molly will never be forgotten.

My bed is cold. My tears have dried. My heart races as I lie awake. NyQuil doesn't even work. I wait for her to come back. I hear my other dogs crying. They're wondering when she'll come back. I wonder if she'll come back. Then I remember. I want to cry. But I can't. I want to be strong. I feel foolish. No one hears me cry. I don't know if I like that or not. Do I want people to know that I'm weak? Afraid? Alone? My biggest fear is falling asleep. I don't want to dream. I don't want to wake up. To an empty bed. A cold bed. No barking, just crying. My tears hit the pillow like bullets. I miss my friend. Does she miss me? Where is she? I'm nervous to wake up. To face reality. Maybe i’ll wake up and she'll be here after all. Then i remember. Why does denial hurt so bad? Why does my brain try to trick itself? Trick myself?

I let my two other dogs outside late at night, them being just as lost as I am. It's 1 am. They bark. Calling for her. No reply. They sniff. Come back inside. They'll look for her in the morning. We'll all look. Then i remember. How long after I wake up until I realize she's dead? Gone. Forever. Who hit my friend? Why wouldn't they stop? I feel anger. But why? Why am I mad? I forget why I am mad for a couple seconds. then I remember. She's never coming back. Maybe i’ll see her in my dreams. Or in the morning. Then I remember.

The days start to go by, and the pain slowly starts to cocoon in my body. It’s crusted to the edge, clinging on to whatever it can, refusing to leave. Molly lives on; in pictures, in memories, and in spirit. I carry her wherever I go, whether it be her leftover dog hair on my clothes, or the fact that I know she's watching me. She’s at the foot of my bed when I fall asleep every night and just leaves right as I wake up. She's still alive, I just can't see her. She's busy. Doing better things, greater things. There’s nothing I want more then to see her again. But at the same time, there's nothing I want more then for her to be happy; and I know she's happy up there. Wherever she is. Nobody wants to lose their dog. But I feel like when another person's dog dies, it's nothing. You don't care. It wasn't your dog. It wasn't your best friend, It was an animal. But when your own dog is gone, it's not just an animal. It's not like losing a family member or losing a friend, because it's losing both. You can’t replace a dog. You can try, but you just can't. Man's best friend. You can't replace them.