A Letter to My Corgi: Journaling Prompts to Process Pet Grief
The gravel on the walking trail crunched under my boots, a rhythm that felt entirely wrong without the accompanying click-click-click of short claws beside me. I instinctively slowed my pace at the bend near the old oak tree—the spot where he always stopped to sniff for exactly forty-five seconds—before realizing, with a fresh pang in my chest, that I didn't need to stop anymore. The breeze at knee-level felt empty. It wasn't just the absence of a dog; it was the absence of a specific, stubborn, low-to-the-ground force of nature that had dictated the pace of my life for twelve years.
- Why specific journaling matters: Generic "grief diaries" often fail because they don't capture the unique quirks (like the "sploot" or the "frap") that made your dog unique.
- The "Relief" Factor: We tackle the guilt associated with feeling relief after a pet's long illness—a common but rarely discussed emotion.
- Tangible Memories: While writing heals the mind, physical tributes like custom pet figurines can help ground you when memories feel slippery.
- Actionable Prompts: 5 specific writing exercises designed to move you from "sadness" to "celebration."
The Fear of Forgetting the "Little Things"
Most people think grief is just sadness. But if we're being honest, a huge part of grief is fear. It's the terrifying thought that six months from now, you might not remember exactly how their ears twitched when a cheese wrapper opened three rooms away.
We hear this constantly from the families we work with. The big memories—the adoption day, the beach trips—those stick around. It's the micro-moments that fade. With Corgis specifically, it’s those breed-specific idiosyncrasies that leave the biggest holes. The way they herded your guests into the living room. The specific "wookie noise" they made when they wanted dinner.
The Counterintuitive Insight: Don't journal about how sad you are.
This might sound strange coming from a grief guide, but writing "I miss him so much" every day often reinforces the pain without processing it. Instead, journal to archive. Treat your journal like a museum curator treating a rare collection. Your goal is to capture the data—the sensory details—before they soften around the edges.
Confronting the "Ugly" Emotion: Relief
We need to talk about the feeling almost no pet parent wants to admit to, but nearly everyone feels: relief.
Corgis are robust, active dogs, but they are prone to mobility issues like Degenerative Myelopathy (DM) later in life. Watching a dog who was born to run and herd suddenly struggle to stand is gut-wrenching. The caretaking becomes a heavy, physical burden—carrying them up stairs, managing harnesses, waking up three times a night.
When they finally pass, there is often a wave of relief. The physical labor is done. The worry is over.
And then comes the guilt. You might think, What kind of monster am I? My best friend is gone, and I'm glad I can sleep through the night?
Here is what we've learned after helping thousands of pet owners memorialize their companions: Relief is not a betrayal of love. It is the body's natural reaction to the end of a high-stress crisis. That relief you feel? It’s actually proof of how hard you were working to keep them comfortable. You aren't relieved they are gone; you are relieved they aren't struggling, and that you no longer have to witness that struggle.
Journaling Prompts for the Corgi Soul
When you sit down to write, skip the generic "Dear Diary." Try these specific prompts designed to capture the personality of a herding breed.
1. The "Sploot" Chronicles
Corgis are famous for the "sploot"—legs kicked out back, belly flat on the floor. But every Corgi sploots differently. * Prompt: Describe their favorite resting spot. Was it a sunbeam? The cold tile in the kitchen? Did they sigh when they hit the floor? Write down the geography of their rest.2. The Food Motivation
We all know Corgis are food-motivated to a fault. * Prompt: What was the most ridiculous thing they ever did for a crumb? Describe the "Corgi eyes"—that intense, unblinking stare that could guilt you out of the last bite of your sandwich.3. The Herding Instinct
Even if they never saw a sheep, the instinct was there. * Prompt: Who did they try to herd? Was it the cat? The kids? You? Describe the feeling of that little wet nose nudging your calf, or the nip at the heels when you weren't moving fast enough.4. The "Frapping" (Frenetic Random Activity Periods)
* Prompt: Describe the sound of the "zoomies." With Corgis, it often sounds like a bowling ball rolling across hardwood. Recall a specific time they got the zoomies at the most inconvenient moment.Moving From 2D to 3D Memories
Writing is powerful. It organizes our thoughts and creates a narrative we can revisit. But sometimes, words on a page aren't enough to fill the space in the room.
We've found that many people struggle because their grief has nowhere to land. You look at the spot by the door where they waited, and your eyes don't know where to focus.
This is where tangible memorials bridge the gap. We've seen families create shadow boxes with collars and favorite toys. Others print large-scale canvas photos. And increasingly, we're seeing pet parents turn to custom figurines to capture the physical essence of their dog.
There is something grounding about seeing the specific shape of your dog—not just a generic Corgi statue, but your Corgi. The specific way one ear flopped, or the unique pattern of white on their chest. While a journal holds the story, a three-dimensional tribute holds the presence. It gives you a physical touchstone to look at while you recall the memories you've written down.
The Letter of Forgiveness
The final journaling exercise is the hardest, but it's the one that actually heals.
Write a letter to your Corgi, but focus on apology and forgiveness.
Many of us harbor secret regrets. I should have taken him to the vet sooner. I shouldn't have gotten frustrated when he had that accident on the rug. I should have bought the expensive food.
Write it all down. "I am sorry that I..."
Then, write their response.
This sounds imaginary, but you know your dog. You know their heart. If you could ask them, "Are you mad that I worked late that one Tuesday five years ago?" you know exactly what they would say. They would say, I don't remember that. I just remember that you came home.
Write that response. Allow yourself to receive the forgiveness they gave you freely every single day of their life.
The Trail Ahead
Yesterday, I went back to that walking trail. I paused at the oak tree. I didn't cry this time. Instead, I looked at the roots where he used to sniff, and I remembered the time he found a half-eaten bagel there and looked at me like he’d won the lottery.
I laughed out loud.
That is the goal of processing grief. It’s not to make the sadness disappear—that sadness is just love with nowhere to go. The goal is to get to the point where the memories make you smile before they make you cry.
So, grab a notebook. Pick up a pen. The story of your life together isn't over just because the chapter ended. It's time to write the epilogue.
