It’s taken me time to write this—maybe because putting it into words means admitting he’s really gone. But grief has a strange way of nudging us forward—through moments of kindness, memory, and unexpected connection.

You see, the other day I received a friendly question from a local gas station attendant. His question opened the door to this reflection, reminding me that Judge’s presence didn’t just change my life—it left a mark on others, too.

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I stopped for gas, and the attendant—always kind and jovial—leaned ever so slightly in through the window with a warm smile.

“Where’s your big dog friend?” he asked, looking toward the back seat as if Judge might be curled up, ready to pop his head up—as was the norm.

I felt the weight of the words before I even spoke. But I said them. The attendant’s face shifted—genuine heartbreak in his expression. He wanted to know what happened to my friend, so I told him.

I thanked him for remembering Judge, for asking, for seeing us. He gave me a fist pump, “I’ll be thinking of you.”

The gas station attendant’s words and supportive fist-pump immediately brought me back to a warm summer evening walk a few seasons ago. An older gentleman on his evening stroll passed us and paused, his eyes soft with admiration. “Magnificent,” he said, nodding. “Simply magnificent.”

At the time, I thought he was talking about Judge, and he was, because Judge was magnificent—“magical,” to quote my son. But today, I wonder if the neighborly observation was referring to us—our bond, our rhythm, the strength in how we moved together, how we communicated.

There was something sacred in my connection with Judge, something that didn’t need to be explained—only admired for the authentic love it displayed. It was beautiful.

Intersectionality of Time and Space

The comment at the gas station isn’t so different from the one that summer day. Both came from strangers who saw something beautiful in our everyday. Both moments remind me that Judge’s legacy isn’t just the love he gave me—it’s the way he made people stop and feel something.

People gravitated toward him. Kids, neighbors, delivery drivers, the mailman who kept treats in his pocket just for Judge—they all felt it.

I’ve come to realize that people didn’t just see a beautiful dog when Judge was around—they felt something in his presence. There was a gentleness about him, a knowing. He carried himself with quiet confidence, never asking for attention but always drawing it.

It wasn’t just that he was loyal or smart or handsome or protective, though he was all of those things. It was the way he made people feel seen, safe, and loved—without needing words. He had that rare gift.

Love Like Judge

You know, whenever I posted a picture of Judge to Instagram, it was usually accompanied by the #mustlovejudge hashtag—a playful twist on the early 2000s rom-com Must Love Dogs. It became my unspoken rule, the standard for who I let into my life, into our life: “Must Love Judge.” If you didn’t get Judge or love him, you probably didn’t get me—or love me—either (not to mention our entire pack). Now, after losing him, I see that phrase a little differently.

It’s not enough to have loved Judge. The real challenge, the real calling, is to love like Judge—offering the same quiet comfort walking with people through joy and sorrow, listening without needing to speak, being loyal, steady, and present.

I once heard that grief is just love that has nowhere to go. I’m not sure I’ll ever be over the loss of Judge—and honestly, I don’t think I want to be. But my everlasting love for Judge does have somewhere to go.

The way forward is to carry what he taught me into every space I enter and meet the world with the same unwavering heart and the same quiet grace. This is Judgie’s Yoda-like life lesson I know he wants me to carry forward, reminding me to hold steadfast to my ability to love unconditionally, to always remember that I am deserving of that same unconditional love from the universe, and to encourage others to do the same.

So I choose love—the kind that asks for nothing but gives everything. The kind that lingers, even after goodbye.

I choose to love like Judge.

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I want to take a moment to thank everyone who has been so incredibly supportive and kind throughout Judge’s battle—and through everything since. Your calls, texts, DMs, beautiful flowers, cards, handmade drawings, thoughtful gifts, hugs, and check-ins have lifted us all in ways I can’t fully put into words.

Every gesture, no matter how big or small, has been a testament to the love you had for Judge—and for us.

My wish for you is simple but sincere:

May everyone in this world be lucky enough to experience a love like Judge in their lifetime.

And may we all honor that gift by paying it forward—simply by loving like Judge.

Thank you for standing with my pack. Thank you for loving us through our heartbreaking loss.

We love you,

Jess, Jacob, Daisy, Bravo, & Bud

✌️🫶🐾

The Honorable Judge