In the picture of your beloved dog, she turned her bright eyes to you and the camera. Her ears perked up, head tilted happily to the side. You pressed your fingers lightly to the computer screen as though you could feel her soft fur through the image. Your eyes blurred slightly as you looked into her cloudy ones.

Blind. Your dog was old, already twelve years. You knew she was elderly, but every confirmation of her aging was a sharp pain to your chest. Today you received the unfortunate news from your mother: your dog had lost her vision. She could smell you when you pet her, but would bark warningly until she caught your scent. Catching a tennis ball was impossible, and walking down the stairs required calculated steps and the cracking of aged joints.

It pained you to watch, and you were caught with the sudden realization of her numbered days. Someday, your dog would die.

The door opened and your boyfriend’s voice called out for you. Sniffing and wiping your eyes, you turned to greet him.

“What’s wrong?” His warm hands cupped your face, fingers brushing your ears. You sighed.

“Don’t worry. I’m fine. It’s my dog. She’s blind.” He frowned, obvious sorrow in his shadowy eyes. He hesitated.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure she’ll be alright.” You pulled away from his grip.

“No, she won’t. Don’t try to make me feel better.” A stubborn pout pushed forward on your lower lip, red from where you had bitten it. He sighed, placing a hand tentatively on your hair.

“I’m sorry, I know. I just don’t know what to say.” He looked at your disappointed eyes with a touch of despondency. Your withheld tears rose to the surface, and you bit your lip again to stifle a cry.

“It just . Because there’s nothing I can do and she’s still going to die someday.” Your voice broke as you struggled through each sentence, your boyfriend pulling you to his chest by your arms.

“Hey, it really is going to be okay. She won’t live forever, but dogs can live a long time without eyesight. She’s a good dog, with a happy life. The best thing to do is keep loving her.” You pressed your face against the soft red fabric of his button down.

“I know. But…I don’t want her to die!” you cried, hiding your face. He pulled back slightly, his cool hand pressed against the warm curve of your neck.

“I know,” he whispered, pressing his lips gently to your head. “I know.” You dried your eyes, smiling at him weakly. He rubbed your head slowly. “Let’s go somewhere for dinner. Maybe, to get your mind off of things?” You nodded, taking the hand he had extended next to yours.

The next day, you woke up to find your boyfriend had left for his schedule. In his place on the bed was a small stuffed dog, the same breed as yours. A note was taped to the pillow next to her, addressed to you with a small heart. It’s going to be okay. You lifted the toy and held it in your hands, smiling through the blurry tears that had wandered to your eyes again. Holding the plush version of your dog in your hands, you smiled. She was still alive, still jumping with excitement every time you came home to visit.

It would be okay.