Daisy hasn’t left yet.
She is still here, breathing softly, existing in that hushed space where time seems to stretch and thin all at once. The world outside keeps moving, loud and demanding, but in this room everything feels slower. More intentional. More honest.
And in this in-between moment, Daisy is still teaching me.
Animals don’t rush what cannot be rushed. They don’t fight the moment they’re in or try to control the next one. Daisy isn’t anxious about what’s coming. She isn’t replaying yesterday or worrying about tomorrow. She is simply present, resting when her body asks for rest, leaning into comfort when she needs it, trusting the rhythm of being cared for.
Sitting with her has made me realize how uncomfortable humans are with stillness. We fill silence with opinions, fear, noise, and certainty. We especially do this now, in a country that feels deeply divided, where even compassion can become something people argue about.
But Daisy doesn’t live on a side.
Left or right means nothing to her. Arguments mean nothing to her. Being right means nothing to her. What matters to her is tone, touch, and whether the space feels safe.
Animals teach us something simple that we often forget: connection does not begin with agreement. It begins with gentleness.
Daisy doesn’t listen in order to respond. She listens to feel. She senses intention rather than ideology. She reminds me that empathy is not a position you defend, but something you practice quietly, especially when no one is watching.
Loving her right now means staying grounded in the present. It means resisting the urge to rush ahead emotionally or to frame this moment as an ending before it truly is. She is still here, and that deserves presence rather than anticipation.
When the time does come, Daisy will not be alone and she will not be frightened. She will have a kind veterinarian whose purpose is to move slowly, speak softly, and ease her gently into peace. And fortunately, Daisy’s passing will be at home, in her own bed and blanket, with people like me beside her, loving her fully and faithfully to the very end.
That choice matters. It reflects responsibility, love, and respect for a life that has given more than it ever asked for.
Animals understand trust in a way humans often forget. They trust that we will listen when their bodies speak. They trust that we will stay when things become hard. They trust that love does not disappear just because care looks different at the end.
That trust is sacred.
In a world where people talk past one another, assume the worst, and treat vulnerability as weakness, Daisy offers a different way of being. A quieter way. A kinder way.
She shows that strength can look like softness. That courage can look like mercy. That love does not need to be loud to be real.
For now, Daisy is still here. And I am here with her, listening, learning, and staying.
Sometimes the most important lesson animals give us is not how to let go, but how to love fully in the present moment, without fear and without conditions.
Daisy Girl
Deep Thinking 