My grandmother’s daughters haven’t spoken to her in three weeks — all because she spent $200 on a custom dog bed for Zeus instead of coming to family dinner.
$200. That’s what broke them. Not the way she talks to him like he understands every word. Not the quilts she makes just for him. Not the vet bills that cost more than her own appointments. No — it was the dog bed. A special orthopedic one because his hips are getting weak, and she noticed him struggling to get up in the mornings.
They don’t understand. But I do.
Zeus isn’t just her dog. He’s what’s left of her world since Grandpa died. Every morning she wakes up because he needs breakfast. Every night she sits down because he curls up beside her — warm, heavy, alive. Without him, I think she’d quietly disappear into her grief.
She spends her days sewing quilts, each one filled with color and memory. Through her online crafting groups, she’s met other women — widows, makers, quiet souls — who also found their reasons to keep going through the love of a pet. Together, they stitch and talk and remind each other they’re not alone.
Last night she sent me a photo: her and Zeus under one of her quilts, both half-asleep on the couch. Her hand resting gently on his head. The message said, “This is us every night.”
My aunts think she’s losing it. I think she’s surviving — and doing it beautifully. Because sometimes love looks like a $200 dog bed and a quilt big enough for two hearts still healing.
Credit – original owner ( respect 🫡)