THE K9 WOULDN’T LEAVE HIS SIDE—EVEN AT THE FUNERAL

I didn’t think I’d cry that hard. Not in front of all those people. But when Rex—my uncle’s retired K9 partner—jumped onto the casket, something broke in me.

Uncle Mateo was a combat vet, tough as they come. He served two tours and came home with Rex, a jet-black German Shepherd who probably saved his life more than once. They were inseparable after that. Rex even followed him into civilian life, working search and rescue for another five years. When Uncle Mateo passed from a heart condition, we all knew Rex would take it hard. But I wasn’t ready for what actually happened.

The service was quiet, respectful. Military honors, flag presentation, the works. I was standing with my mom, holding her hand so tight I think I left nail marks. When they wheeled the casket into place, someone let Rex out of his crate. At first, he just walked slowly over, sniffing the air like he wasn’t sure where Mateo was.

Then he jumped. Right onto the casket. No bark, no growl—just this heavy, aching whimper as he laid across the top, his head tucked by the folded flag. The crowd went silent. And then the sound started. Grown men crying. My cousin falling to her knees. Even the priest had to pause.

And then—God, I still don’t know what made Rex do this—he started pawing at the casket like he wanted inside.

That’s when the funeral director rushed forward and tried to get him off.

But I stepped between them.

“Don’t you dare,” I said.