I saw him before I remembered it wasn’t him.

Same ears. Same shape. Same ridiculous little bounce when he walked.

My whole body reacted before my brain did.

Then the dog turned toward his owner.

And I remembered.

For a moment, I felt three things at once.

I was happy that this dog looked so healthy and alive.

I was jealous that someone else still got to walk beside theirs.

And I missed mine so badly that it almost felt physical.

I hated the jealousy for a second.

That owner had done nothing wrong. That dog deserved every happy step.

But grief can hold contradictory feelings without asking permission.

You can be glad another animal is loved and still wish, desperately, that your own was beside you.

I watched them walk away.

And eventually the sharpness softened into something else.

I found myself hoping that wherever my boy is — whatever “wherever” means — he feels that light too.

No pain. No fear. Just moving through the world like nothing is wrong.

Maybe that is why seeing another happy dog can hurt and comfort me at the same time.