MY FATHER GAVE AWAY OUR PETS AFTER MOM D.IED — BUT MOM ALWAYS KNEW WHAT HE WAS LIKE
I was 19 when my mother passed. It happened so suddenly, like the air was yanked out of the house. And just as quickly—things started disappearing.
The dog didn’t wait. Neither did my father.
Mom had always been everything to me—warm, loving, the glue that held us together. And always at her side? Peanut. Her little French Bulldog. He never left her lap. When she was in pain, he’d curl up next to her and lick her hands. It was like he knew.
Dad didn’t love Peanut. Honestly, he barely tolerated him. And maybe I didn’t love that little dog either back then, but I respected what he meant to Mom. We all did. At least, I thought we did.
The day of her funeral, I came back home with aching feet and a hollow chest—and the silence felt heavier than usual.
I looked around the house, calling, “Peanut? Come here, boy!”
Nothing.
I turned to my dad. “Where’s Peanut?”
He didn’t even look at me. Just kept sipping his beer and said, “I left her.”
My stomach dropped. “Left her where?”
“The shelter,” he said flatly. “Not my problem anymore.”
It was like he’d thrown away a part of her. A part of us. Just like that.
I stormed out. Didn’t say another word. That house wasn’t my home anymore. I tried calling the shelter, but they didn’t have a dog by that name. My guess? He didn’t even bother using it.
I couldn’t sleep. I cried more over that dog than I ever thought I would. It felt like grieving Mom all over again—losing one last living piece of her.
Two weeks passed, and I hadn’t spoken to my dad. I didn’t plan to. But then I got a call.
It was my mom’s lawyer.
“We need you to come in,” he said. “Your mother left something behind for you.”
I showed up the next day, expecting documents or maybe a letter. Instead, the lawyer handed me a small key.
“It’s for a storage unit,” he said. “Your mom set it up a few months before she passed.”
I drove there, confused, heart pounding.
Inside the unit were two things: a thick envelope and a dog carrier.
I opened the envelope first. Inside was a handwritten letter:
“Sweetheart,
I know your father. I always have. If you’re reading this, it means he’s done what I feared he would. But I took precautions.
Peanut isn’t lost. He’s with someone safe—someone I trust. Go get him. He’s waiting.
Love,
Mom”
I broke down sobbing right there.
Attached to the letter was an address.
When I got there, a kind older woman opened the door—and behind her came a familiar little bark. Peanut rushed to me, tail wagging, eyes bright.
He remembered me.
I dropped to the ground and held him so tight, I thought I’d never let go.
My mom always knew. She protected him even when she wasn’t here anymore.
And in doing that… she protected me too. 🐾💔
