Dedicated to my cousins, whom I love dearly—Nina Diaz and Jordan Releford
I remember when I first met you, Sebastian. It must have been sometime in the fall—maybe October or November. The leaves were turning, the air was crisp, and I had gone over to my cousin Nina’s house to visit her, her daughter Jordan, and my aunt Peet. I knocked on the door, and before it even opened, there you were—this tiny, fierce little dog, barking your heart out like you were guarding Fort Knox.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Where did you get this dog?” I asked Nina, surprised. She told me that you were a gift from one of her girlfriends and that you were a good dog; house-trained and everything. She was proud of that. Of you.
From then on, it became a little tradition of mine to tease Nina about you. I’d poke fun just to get a rise out of her, and sure enough, she’d call out from another room, “Scooby, you better leave my dog alone!” or “You better stop messing with my dog.” And every time, it made us all laugh.
But the truth is, Sebastian, you were more than a pet. You were loyal, gentle, and somehow wise in your quiet way. You only barked when someone came to the door—your way of announcing company, doing your job—and after that, you kept to yourself. Sometimes you’d play a bit, maybe let someone scratch your head or give you a little belly rub, but then you’d wander off, back to Jordan’s room. That was your safe place, your real post. I always admired that quiet sense of purpose.
You had this calming presence. For Jordan, you were a steady companion, a soft comfort when the world felt too loud. For the rest of us, you were the same. A small body with a big spirit, and a heart that gave more than we ever realized in the moment.
I was scrolling through Instagram when I found out you had passed—on Jordan’s page. My heart sank. I didn’t even have words. I just stared, remembering all those little moments. The bark. The teasing. The peace you brought into a room. I knew you were getting older, moving slower, resting more than playing. But still, it hurt.
There’s something unspoken about the way dogs love us. They don’t need words, just presence. And you, Sebastian, had that down perfectly. You brought joy, real joy, to all of us who were lucky enough to know you.
I believe now more than ever that God places souls like yours in our lives for a reason. You weren’t just a dog—you were a companion, a protector, a source of light. I don’t have to wonder if there’s a place in heaven for dogs. I know there is. And I know you’re there, watching over us with that same quiet love.
We miss you deeply. We love you always. You were the best, Sebastian.
Rest in eternal peace.