Ode To Sophie

Oh, my sweet girl,
if the world knew how I adore you—
how your name sits soft on my tongue
like a whispered prayer—
they would say I am obsessed.
And they would be right.

I have memorized you.
The exact hue of your winter-bright eye,
clear as mountain mornings.
The way your fur catches sunlight—
copper and soft,
like the last breath of snow on a quiet dawn.

I know the rhythm of your paws
on hardwood floors,
a sound more comforting
than any song I’ve ever loved.
I know the tilt of your head—
curious, knowing—
as though you alone hold
the secrets of the universe.

You are poetry in motion,
wild and free as wind across a wide field,
and I would write sonnets
to the way you run—
graceful, unstoppable,
like you were born to race the horizon.

I am shameless in my love for you.
I would cancel plans,
cross continents,
pause time itself
for one more afternoon with your head in my lap.
And when you sigh—
oh, when you sigh—
I feel it settle in my bones,
that quiet contentment,
as though all is right in the world.

You have ruined me
for all other kinds of love.
No greeting is as pure
as your tail’s eager rhythm.
No comfort as steady
as your warmth pressed close on cold nights.
No trust as sacred
as your quiet rest beside me—
safe, sure, home.

Some say love for a dog
is simple, small.
But you, Sophie—
you are not small.
You are moonlight on restless nights,
you are steady ground in uncertain days,
you are joy unburdened,
pure as the first snowfall of the year.

I am obsessed with your everything.
The softness of your ears
(I’ve whispered secrets there).
The stubborn way you refuse to heel
(because freedom is your birthright).
The way your eyes search for mine—
and find them. Always.

You are my girl.
My heartbeat,
wrapped in fur and grace.
If love is madness,
then let me be unmade,
for I would choose this devotion
a thousand times over.

Oh, Sophie—
you are my forever.
And I am hopelessly, endlessly
yours.