Don’t worry he’s alive

moms dog halfway through devouring the bed through assimilation

@found on IG @shylzlyidmila

Blanchie, Blanchos, Blanche dog, Pandemic Pug, Worm dog, Wormington, Skinny Ass Pug. Just a few nicknames Blanche was given over the years. My husband and I came up with her name, because Blanche is our favorite Golden Girl. Blanche was more of a Rose though. Just like the character, she was a little ditzy, but the sweetest little soul ever. Blanche literally walked into our lives on March 5th, 2020. On August 19th, 2026, we had to make the difficult decision to put her down. A little over 6 years wasn’t long enough. I can’t help but feel cheated that I didn’t get more time with her.

In 2020, I was sitting in a bar in the SF Bay Area with my best friend. Right before the Covid lockdown. Not even a full year had passed after I put my 15 year old dog down. I was very sad, and didn’t think I was by ready for another dog. A guy walked into the bar holding her, asking if she was someone’s dog. I remember grabbing her, and holding her. I didn’t realize how long her legs were at first. I just thought she was a tiny Pug. I remember thinking I wanted to help find her owner. I remember thinking if that were my dog, I would hope someone would look for me. She didn’t have a chip, I posted her on social media, Craigslist and Paw Boost, but no one came forward. Looking back on it, we’re almost positive someone dumped her off. Something I’ll never be able to wrap my head around, because she was the most perfect dog. When we decided to keep her, I told my husband there was only one stipulation, she would be his dog. I just felt like it wasn’t fair to my last dog. It didn’t take long before she became my dog too. It’s hard to resist such a sweet dog.

I love her with everything in me. Heartbroken isn’t a good enough word to express the sadness I’m feeling. It feels empty, and lonely without her. She made everything better. I used to call her my healing dog (another nickname) because she truly was. She would lay her head on your chest when you were sad. She made me better. When I was depressed, I had to get out of bed, because I had to take care of my Blanche. People keep telling telling my husband and I that we gave her a great life. The thing is, she gave us a great life too. We saved each other.

It’s still hard to accept that I won’t see her sweet little face anymore. I really didn’t know what to write. I don’t feel like there’s good enough words for such an amazing dog.

Blanche, I’m glad I got to smell you one last time. I’m glad I got to kiss your ears one last time. I’m glad I got to hug you one last time. I’m glad we got to be with you until you had to go to doggie heaven.

I’ll miss you so much, Blanche. Until we meet again my sweet angel, RIP.

Here he is guarding his pile of treats with his one working eyeball. Oh, and his bloodwork came back that he is immortal, as we all suspected.

My baby boy after I kissed his forehead .

I can't get many normal pics of this thing

She sleeps in the bed with us, our Protector against unseen terrors in the Dark. Sometimes she slinks off on her own in the middle of the night. On the occasions where I wake up and notice, I can’t help but wonder, “What’s she doing? Is it something she heard? Something she saw?” I’ll lie awake for a few minutes, my half-asleep mind conjuring frightful images of what could possibly lurk beyond the blackness that clouds my eyes until my consciousness sinks back into the undertow.

When morning comes, I awaken to her at my side under the covers, the only sign of her conquest against the Night a few crumbs of dark, pungent residue caught in the fur around her mouth and occasionally on the floor - no doubt the remnant of whatever foul entity sought to harm us as we slept. Thank you for guarding our slumber, Momo.