I used to picture angels as quiet

 I used to picture angels as quiet —

with wings and harps and halos made of gold.
But now I know better.
Because somewhere above,
there’s an angel with muddy paws
and a tail that never stops moving.

You were always more than a pet.
You were light wrapped in fur,
joy that walked beside me,
love that needed no words.

When you left, I imagined you stepping gently
into a world of endless fields,
where the grass never fades,
and the air smells like forever.

Maybe the angels were waiting —
smiling as you arrived,
wagging your tail so wildly
that even heaven laughed.

I like to think you still watch over me,
nose pressed against the edge of a cloud,
tail thumping softly to the rhythm of our bond.

Because angels aren’t just found in stories or skies.
Sometimes they find their way to earth,
to love someone who needs them most —
then return to the light
when their work is done.

You were one of them, my love.
A guardian in disguise.
And now, above the rainbow’s curve,
you’re still watching,
still loving,
still wagging your tail in heaven’s light.