To Roxy, my doggo sibling
Dear Roxy,
First of all, your name wasn’t supposed to be Roxy. I named you Peppa. But when I came home from school after a week, your name was changed into that. Apparently, my father was the one who changed it. You were in his arms and he was looking at you like you were his long-lost child. And at that moment, I knew. You were my sibling.
I never would’ve thought that you would make my parents be a little more loose and easygoing. They were so uptight with me, a trait that I don’t complain about because it was just the way we were. But every little thing you do makes them a little freer and a lot happier.
Was I jealous? Not a single bit.
Our world suddenly revolved around you, Roxy. Every time you get sick, my father brought up his readings on animal care and searched for natural ways of medicating you. My father’s daily routine altered because of you. He would bathe you, feed you, play with you, and sleep with you. You were his youngest.
And even at his deathbed, you were the one I was telling him about. You have to get better because Roxy misses you.
When our father died, my mom sought comfort. And she felt that comfort with you. Her grief became a little more bearable because of your existence, Roxy. You were her therapy, and taking care of you was one of the factors why she didn’t wallow in pain. Without you, she would’ve been too sad to even get up in the mornings.
Thank you, Roxy, for being there for my mother when I couldn’t.
You were there when I graduated in senior high school and now you’re still here to witness the end of my college days. I’m grateful for all the little moments we shared together because you are one of the reasons why I’m still stable.
Our lives may be dedicated to others and your life is solely dedicated to ours, but to us, you are not just a dog, you are our hero. To my parents, you are their child. To me, you are my sibling.
I love you, sweet creature. To more years ahead of us.
