Kylo Clark

Kylo wasn't just our dog — he was our shadow, our little guardian, our soft-eared cuddle buddy, and the heart of so many quiet, beautiful moments in our home.

He came to us at just six weeks old and wasted no time becoming part of everything. He barked a lot — our living, breathing alarm system — but I already miss the sound of him rushing to the door to let us know someone was near. He was never a big dog, maybe fifteen pounds at most, but you'd never have guessed it by the way he strutted through the house, nails clicking confidently on the floor like he was running the place. Honestly, he kind of was.

Kylo had a special love for everyone in the family, but the way he curled up next to the kids, especially when they were calm and still, was unmatched. He'd jump up on the bed or couch with whoever sat still long enough, but my favorite place was the couch in my office. On the days I took a break and stretched out, Kylo would climb right into the bend of my knees, tucking himself into that warm little space like it was always meant for him.

His long black ears were curly and soft, and yeah — he smelled like a dog. But it was his smell, and I miss it already.

Four years. That's all we got. And it doesn't feel like enough. Not by a long shot. The house is too quiet now. His absence rings louder than his barking ever did. The {{numberofdayssincejune29th2025}} feels so much longer than those 4 years.

Even when he got in trouble — barked too much, got in the way, pestered when we were overwhelmed — Kylo always came back with gentleness. All he wanted was to curl up next to us and be close. And I think that's the part that's hardest to let go of. That unconditional, always-present, just-wanna-be-with-you love.

Chloe, Lilliana, and I all keep replaying things in our heads — wishing we'd been more patient, more gentle. But Kylo never held it against us. He just kept showing up with love, tail wagging, eyes hopeful.

Now it's our turn to carry his love forward. To remember the joy in the little things: the curl of his ears, the click of his paws, the weight of him nestled next to us.

Rest well, buddy. You were — and always will be — deeply loved.

We miss you so much.