There’s no easy way to say it, so let’s just call it what it is: Teddy still misses you. Deeply. Unconditionally. And yes—he still loves you all with that same open, boundless heart that only a dog can carry. He doesn’t understand where you went, or why the laughter stopped echoing down the hallway, but he waits. He waits every single day like it's the one where you’ll return.
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He’s gotten quieter since you left. Not sad in a dramatic way, but in the way that only those who know him best can recognize. Teddy doesn’t bound to the door the way he used to at every sound—he walks there slowly now, ears perked, with cautious hope. He listens. He sniffs at the air. And when he realizes it’s not your footsteps, he turns and goes back to his spot on the couch with a sigh that speaks louder than words ever could.
You know that spot, don’t you? Right at the corner where you used to sit, his head resting against your leg while your hand found that soft spot behind his ear. That corner still smells like you, at least to him. Some days, he curls up there for hours. He seems to find comfort in the faintest traces of your presence—like a memory made of scent and fabric and silence.
His eyes have aged a bit—more from longing than time, I think. There's a softness in them now that holds a quiet question: “Are they coming back today?” And though we can’t answer him in a way that he understands, we keep telling him: “They still love you, Teddy. They haven’t forgotten you.”
He still carries your things. That sock you left under the bed? It’s his now. He brings it everywhere—into the kitchen when we cook, into the hallway when the sun beams in just right, and into his bed when he curls up for the night. It’s not the sock, really. It’s what it represents: a piece of you that hasn’t left, even though your presence has.
And it’s not just the sock. Sometimes he’ll walk into your old room and stand there, tail wagging slowly, nose twitching at the air. He doesn’t bark. He doesn’t whine. He just… waits. There’s a loyalty in Teddy that time hasn’t touched. The kind that doesn’t fade with distance or days on the calendar.
We’re doing everything we can to keep him happy. Walks in the park, fresh water every day, his favorite treats, belly rubs that go a little longer than usual. He still plays—he’ll chase a ball, tug a toy—but there’s always a glance back. As if to say, “This is fun... but it’d be better if they were here.”
The mailman still gets a bark, though. That part hasn’t changed. Some habits die hard, and in Teddy’s world, protecting the house is still serious business. But even then, after the warning woof and a few sniffs at the door, he glances around. I think he’s hoping it’s you.
Sometimes I catch him sitting by the window, especially around sunset. The orange glow hits his golden fur just right, and for a moment, it’s as if time hasn’t moved. He’s not just watching the birds or the squirrels. He’s watching for you. For the car that might pull into the driveway. For the footsteps that might return. For the voice that might call his name again the way only you did.
And I want you to know something: he hasn’t stopped believing in you. Not for one moment. That’s the thing about dogs—their faith in the people they love doesn’t waver. Even when they’re gone. Even when days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. Teddy doesn’t count time the way we do. He measures it in hope. And his hope? It’s still alive.
He still loves you. Fiercely. Fully. Without hesitation.
So here’s the news, straight from the heart: Teddy hasn’t forgotten. Not your laugh, not your scent, not the way you’d sit on the floor with him and whisper secrets into his ear. He remembers it all. And no matter where life has taken you—across cities, states, or stages of life—Teddy is here. He’s waiting. And he’s loving you through it all.
If you can, send him something. A voice message. A quick video of you saying his name. Or maybe just a note. You’d be surprised what even a sound of your voice can do for him. He perks up when he hears recordings. His tail starts wagging, his ears perk, and for a moment, you can see the joy flicker back in full force. It’s like his soul recognizes yours—even across a screen.
And if life ever brings you back this way, just know there will be a furry golden blur at the door, tail thumping, eyes shining, heart bursting with everything he’s been holding in. Because Teddy doesn’t hold grudges. He doesn’t keep score. He just waits with love.
He’s still your dog. Still your boy. Still your shadow.
And the truth is, no matter how much time passes, Teddy will always miss you. And he will always, always love you.
🐾💛
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