You never think it’ll happen to you—until the moment your world falls apart.

On April 8, 2024, my heart was shattered in a way that words can barely describe. I lost my two-year-old toy poodle, Mookie, in the most horrific and senseless way imaginable—through brutal dog-on-dog violence. That day started like any other, just Mookie and me playing in the backyard. But suddenly, the happy pitter-patter of his little paws went silent. When I looked around, he was gone. The back gate was slightly open—likely left ajar after trash pickup. My heart sank. I rushed to the front yard and saw him, my sweet boy, blissfully unaware of the danger ahead.

Mookie, being his playful self, didn’t come when I called. Instead, he joyfully explored the neighborhood, sniffing around every house on our cul-de-sac. He was so full of life, just being his happy, innocent self. Eventually, we ended up across the street at my neighbor’s house, where an electrician was getting into his van. The electrician saw me struggling to catch Mookie and kindly joined in, both of us laughing at Mookie’s playful antics. For a moment, it was just another day.

But in an instant, everything changed. As Mookie started heading back to our house, I saw them—my neighbor’s two massive Armenian Gamprs, each easily weighing over 150 pounds, bolting out of their garage. At first, I thought they were just excited, maybe wanting to play. But then I heard it—the sound that will haunt me for the rest of my life. Mookie’s terrified yelps pierced the air as the dogs cornered him in our front yard. I ran, screaming, kicking, trying to do anything to save him. My neighbors rushed out to help, but it felt like an eternity. I even sprayed the dogs with a hose, but they wouldn’t stop. If it weren’t for my neighbor, Dean Zipperman, who bravely intervened, Mookie wouldn’t have made it out at all.

I wrapped my broken, bleeding baby in a towel and held him tight as we rushed to the vet, just five minutes away. But time wasn’t on our side. Mookie took his last breath in my arms, right there in the parking lot. I can still feel the weight of his little body going limp, the life slipping away from him. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of Mookie, don’t miss him with every fiber of my being. He was more than just a pet; he was my family, my joy, my heart.

I reported the incident to Animal Control, hoping for some justice, some recognition of the life that was taken. They investigated, spoke with the neighbors, and in the end, all they did was ensure the dogs couldn’t get out again. No real punishment, no accountability. A life was lost, and that’s all that happened. Desperate for change, I wrote to my local Congressman, pleading for a response, for action—anything. But my words went unanswered.

Mookie’s death can’t be in vain. I need to turn this pain, this emptiness, into something that will make a difference. No one should have to go through what I did. No other innocent life should be lost so senselessly.