You died on a Thursday. 

Shortly after I got home. I was about to take a nap. I had walked into the back yard looking at the new door. I was sad already for two reasons. The old screen door from the 60’s was gone. We were replacing all the broken parts in our life. Emotional or physical. Relationships and doors. Sad to see it go, sad that we won’t get to enjoy the nice things we’ve replaced since we’ll be selling our home to live a safer, happier life. 

I asked why I didn’t hear you barking. I glanced one way. Peeked in the garage. And didn’t think anything of it. But by then you were already gone. I had something much worse to be sad over than a screen door. 

I searched forever and anywhere. I rolled the windows down so I could hear your bark. I went through the alleys I haven’t been through for years. The roads I used to walk home from school. I passed the homes of all my old school friends. But by then you were already gone. 

At night, I left a trail of treats for you on the sidewalk. They lead up to our front porch. I was worried you were cold, or hungry and hurt. I left your food and water outside just in case. I hope to wake up next morning with you sleeping at the door. But by then you were already gone. 

I had no luck at the animal shelter. Although I swear your twin sister was there. “I think that’s my dog. I mean, it’s crazy for me to second guess…but that looks like him.” “Oh, this is a girl.” “Oh, never mind then.”

Jarret helped me print out your lost posters. I was determined to get 60 up around Sun Valley. We started on Taft, moved to Lincolnway, then Cleveland and finally onto 12th st, my street, our street - where you ran away. As we put up this poster, a man stopped his car on the side of the street and asked if I had lost a dog. He approached us looking at the ground and said “I have some bad news”. I kept looking at the ground as well. I asked him to please tell it to Jarret even though I was closer to him. My hand was on my head as he told me that Roy was trying to cross the street and was hit by a car. He said he watch Animal Control take Roy away. And I asked if he’s sure it was this dog in the poster. 

“I’m 99% sure.” Which always means yes. 

I later asked Jarret that even though we don’t believe in heaven, if we could just believe in doggy heaven for one night. Telling my mom would be the hard part. She took it much harder than I expected. As she sat down crying, I grabbed his poster and handed it to her. The look on her face was beautiful but sad. She covered her mouth, took the poster and said “Stupid little Roy, why’d you have to run away?” And continued to weep.