This caught my eye on my calendar the other day as I approach the one-year anniversary of the loss of my sweet puppy girl, Kallie. It caught my eye, and–surprisingly–made me smile because Kallie resembled both a bear and a lion. When we lived in the city, on walks, we’d sometimes pass “chain gangs” of little kids from a nearby daycare center (coincidentally named Black Bear–another smile) who would inevitably call her a lion or a bear or both–with wide eyes of wonderment and great excitement.

How has an entire year passed without her? Her meals and our daily walks were the axes around which I built my day. She was my other half in so many ways as I imbued her with all the traits I needed her to have. This year has been an adjustment, for sure. The good (and bad) news is that this isn’t my first grief rodeo.

It’s with a sigh of great relief and equally great longing that the year of firsts is over after the loss of my bear-lion bestie. The pain of losing her is still so reachable, but I don’t reach for it—a lesson I’ve learned the hard way, seemingly over and over. But, that pain is microscopic compared to the years of happiness of living our simple, happy shared life.

I can’t think of our life together without lauding her as a companion who shepherded a quiet, somber man, working through his grief and taking him to a place of solace where he lost himself in hours and hours of play, petting, and just watching her sleep. She pulled me out of myself in ways I hoped and in ways I could have never predicted.

During the past 365 days, I’ve looked at pictures and videos and recalled moments throughout our 10.5-year adventure. And I’m so grateful for every day we had together. She grounded me and gave my life more meaning than I could provide for myself at the time–particularly at the very beginning.

I’ll forever miss the sounds of her almost as much as I miss her uber-fuzzy presence: the rhythmic lapping at her water dish at any time of day or night, the cozy comfort of her grumbling snore that could be heard anywhere in the house, and the thump of her paw beckoning me to rub her belly still echo in my heart and in my head. They were signs of a pooch who felt loved, safe, and happy. I haven’t really lost her–as I haven’t lost the true essence of Ken. Like him, Kallie remains with me in ways that are important and real. I wouldn’t be who I am without our time together.

As I wrote before, she will forever be the puppy who saved me.

She’s also the puppy who once thought she was part seal ⬇️.