Rainbow Bridge Poem for Dogs
If you're reading this tonight, your dog is gone. You came here for the poem.
There's a meadow somewhere your dog is in now.
Their pain is gone. Their old body works again. If they couldn't see at the end, they can see now. If they couldn't walk, they're running. They are warm, they are fed, they are surrounded by other dogs who once loved someone too.
They play all day. They eat well. They rest in the shade.
But there's one thing they're still missing. They miss you.
Sometimes they look up across the meadow, at the place where the people come from. They watch. They wait. They go back to playing. They watch again.
One day they look up and see you. They know it's you from across the field. They run, and they don't stop running.
When they reach you, you'll be on the ground holding them. Their face against your face. Their old body strong again, the way you remember it best.
No one will tell you to let go. No one will tell you it's time.
When you both stand up, you'll walk together over the bridge. You won't be apart again.
You can read it again. You can print it. You can read it out loud to your dog tonight if you want to. There is no wrong way to do this.
The first night
The first night is the hardest. The water bowl is in the wrong place. The bed still has the shape of them in it. The bedroom door is wider than it should be.
Tonight, you don't have to do anything. The bed can stay where it is. The water bowl doesn't have to be poured out. The collar can stay on the bedside table. The leash by the door doesn't have to come down. None of these things need to be moved tonight or anytime soon.
If looking at their things hurts and you want them put away, that's also okay. There is no correct order here. Whichever version of you wakes up tomorrow morning will know what to do next.
The days that come after
You'll reach for them before you remember. You'll stand in the kitchen at the time you used to feed them, and your hand will move toward the cupboard without your permission. This will happen for weeks, less often as months pass, and it won't fully stop in the first year.
If you have other pets in the house, they're searching too. Watch for them at the door, in the spot your dog used to sleep, or near the food bowl. They knew your dog. They are looking for them.
There is no schedule for any of this. Some mornings will be harder than others, and some will surprise you with how much it still hurts months in. That doesn't mean you're doing it wrong. It means you loved them.
A place for them
You can make a page for your dog. A photo of them, their name, the years they were with you, and anything else you want to write. The page has a permanent address. It stays up. Anyone who knew them can visit — family, the kids, the neighbor who used to feed them when you traveled.
A year from now, on the day you lost them, an email will arrive so you don't have to remember the date alone.
About this poem
The Rainbow Bridge has been part of pet grief tradition for over sixty years. The original was written in 1959 by a Scottish teenager, Edna Clyne-Rekhy, after her own dog Major died. The version above is ours. Edna's full story is here, and you can read more on how the Rainbow Bridge entered pet grief.
Questions people sometimes ask
Is the Rainbow Bridge religious? No. Edna wrote it as a personal vision, not a religious text. Religious and non-religious dog owners both find comfort in it. It belongs to no tradition in particular.
Can I read it at a funeral or burial? Yes. Many families do, often in the backyard with the people who knew the dog. There is no requirement to read it any particular way.
Will this stop hurting? Not soon. The shape of it will change with time. But the dog you lost was real, and what you're feeling is the size of that. Don't measure your grief against anyone else's calendar.