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Missing Piper

  • Writer: Carmen Hurst
    Carmen Hurst
  • Jun 24
  • 2 min read
We weren’t looking for a dog like Piper—truthfully, I’m not sure we even knew a dog like her existed.

She came to us after outliving two previous owners, a quiet, scared little one with eyes full of stories we’d never fully know.

When she arrived, she was hesitant. Unsure. She wouldn’t walk across our hardwood floors—a problem, since most of our downstairs is just that. But, like all things in life worth loving, she adapted. Slowly. Gently. She made our home, her home.

And we made her ours.

The kids adored her immediately. Her quirks didn’t scare them away; they drew them in. Her quiet ways, her silent loyalty, the way she fit herself into our family without asking much at all—it was a kind of comfort we didn’t know we needed.

She wasn’t loud unless Luke barked—then she’d join in with loyalty and urgency. And if she needed to go outside, you knew it—she’d let out the loudest, most persistent whine that made it impossible to ignore her. But she never overwhelmed us with licks or jumped for attention. Piper was steady. Protective. The kind of presence that made you feel safe just by being nearby. She loved her treats. She loved her family. She belonged.

Now that she’s gone, there’s an ache in the rare quiet moments. A shadow where she should be, where her bed should be, where her blanket should be. Her absence has weight. I miss her excited greeting every time I walk through the door.

Our younger dog, Luke, still walks around the house as if he’s searching for her. Honestly, I think we all are. Not just her body, but the feeling she brought into this space—the peace, the calm, the quiet devotion.

It’s hard to explain to someone who’s never loved a pet like this. Piper wasn’t just a dog. She was a chapter. A reminder that even in a life full of noise, sometimes the softest hearts leave the deepest imprint.

We miss her.

And yet, we’re grateful. Grateful for the time, however short. Grateful for every slow step across the floor that led her into our lives.

Run free, sweet girl. You were ours. And we were so lucky to be yours.
 
 
 

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