My precious chihuahua Bug—also known as Buggy, Miss Bug, Lady Bug, Little Deer Dog, and Booga—died at 5:15 a.m. Saturday, June 27, 2026. She took her last breath cuddled up on my chest, her sister Dorothy Parker at her side.

Bug was a delightfully awkward long-haired chihuahua, a bundle of contradictions and neuroses. Shockingly athletic but stereotypically nervous, sweet and social but shy, whip smart but tentative. She was afraid of thunder, loved to have her belly rubbed, hated snow, enjoyed rolling in smelly grass, and was a devoted yogi dog. Her spectacular ears would stand straight up and a little out when she was curious, her brow furrowed like an old man when she was confused or worried, and her nose wiggled like a bunny when she was sniffing the night air in the yoga garden. She was afraid to walk up the stairs to our second floor and had to be carried, but she flew down the same stairs every morning to get to breakfast. And when she barked her front feet lifted off the floor, her dainty eight-pound body standing brave.

She came into my family’s life nine months after the death of my daughter Mackenzie, when my daughter Savannah and future son-in-law Levi were living with me and my husband in St. Louis. Grief in the house at that time was heavy and dark, but getting a nervous rescue chihuahua acclimated to urban life, particularly in the city dog park across the street from our loft, was hilarious. Bug made us laugh in spite of our sorrows, and her sweet face and awkward manner warmed our hearts. This tiny little angel dog reminded us that our broken hearts were still beating. My friend Carol who found Bug for us knew way before I could, that I needed a new dog to love, and her selection of Bug was a perfect, priceless gift.

It is cliché to say that I have lost my best friend. Yet, I have, indeed, lost my best friend. I have lost a friend who loved me healthy or wrecked, clean or stinky (particularly stinky). She loved me on the good days and the bad days, and she forgave me for adopting a rambunctious doodle puppy who turned our peaceful house into chaos. I have lost a friend who made me smile and made me laugh, a friend who went with me on a journey of grief and starting life all over again.

I have lost a fierce friend who walked with me through fire.

Diagnosed with a heart murmur in November, she started meds in January when x-rays revealed a slight enlargement of her heart. Her symptoms were mild and sporadic, and she kept on living like she had always lived, running instead of walking when I said “outside” or “treat,” pigging out on her food and on Dorothy Parker’s, and showing up for duty every day to rid our front porch of squirrels and mail carriers.

I needed more time, even as I know too well that you never get the time you need with the special souls in your life, no matter how long you are fortunate to be in their presence. I thought we had more time, a year at least, perhaps two. In the last three weeks her symptoms worsened, however, and became more frequent in the week before she died. Still, between episodes of congestion and fainting spells, she was her usual spunky and silly self. She ate her breakfast and dinner with her usual enthusiasm, asked to go outside just to sit on the yoga deck, snarled at Dorothy Parker for trying to take her place on the sofa, and begged for a nibble of my buttered toast every morning. On the evening before she died, she greeted me at the front door when I returned from yoga class, her tail wagging her butt and her doe eyes demanding I explain my absence.

Gah. Typing that last sentence about the last time Bug will ever greet me at the front door has me sobbing all over again.

So here I am, standing at one of those markers in my life when I know that tomorrow I must continue my journey without one of the souls who was necessary to bring me to this time and to this place.

All I can do is say goodbye and goodnight, my dear friend Bug. You warmed my heart every single day you were in my life, you were loved and adored and cherished, and I will keep your light tucked up and safe for my forever.