Daphne came into my life quietly, the way the best things often do—without announcement, but full of meaning. She was a rescue, carrying pieces of a past I would never fully know, yet she never let that define her. From the beginning, she chose connection. She chose trust.

No one could quite say what she was. I once thought I had it figured out—a Markiesje, or something close—but even that was quickly corrected. In the end, it didn’t matter. Daphne wasn’t a breed; she was simply herself—spirited, curious, and wonderfully unique.

What she loved most were our walks. There was a spark in her then, a lightness in her step as if each path we took together gave her purpose. And maybe it did. Or maybe her purpose was simpler, and far greater—to be my constant companion.

She was loyal in a way that can’t be taught, only given. Always there. Always present. A quiet friend who asked for little and gave everything.

Now, the walks are quieter, and the spaces she once filled feel larger than they should. But her spirit lingers—in the trails we walked, in the sunsets she watched, and in the steady, comforting memory of a dog who found her place in the world… right beside me.