When a dog dies, something inside you breaks.

When a dog dies, something inside you breaks. Not just your heart, but your sense of home. Psychology says the bond between a human and their dog isn't just emotional, it's biological. Your brain releases oxytocin every time he wags his tail, every time his paws tap against the floor when you walk in. So when that sound disappears, your body still waits for it. You still hear him at night, still move your hand, expecting to feel his fur. That's not imagination. It's memory wired deep into your nervous system. Psychologists call it attachment imprinting. Your dog becomes part of how your brain defines safety. So when he's gone, your body reacts the same way it would if you lost a family member, because to your brain, you did. That's why the house feels too quiet, why your chest feels heavy in places words can't reach. But psychology also says grief is love that has nowhere to go. And every tear, every memory, every ache is proof that you were lucky enough to be loved unconditionally by something that never needed words to say it. Because he wasn't just your dog, he was your home in another heartbeat.