A pet memorial book that holds who they actually were

The book is the same object as our celebration books — same hardcover, same 15 double-page spreads — but almost every editorial decision changes.

• Where the story lives. Nearly all of it stays in the good years: the welcome, the name, the food, the walks, the game, the things only they did. The ending isn't circled for twenty pages.
• A line that repeats. Each book carries one short line of its own that comes back through the pages, so it reads like a litany rather than a report — and a child can say it with you.
• The closing spreads. Your pet reaches the goodbye in their own words, then the voice hands over to you: one spread thanking them for trusting you, and a final spread in afternoon light that closes on “You were here. You were loved. You will always be part of me.”
• Language. Gentle, but not evasive. No euphemism, no clinical bluntness, no religious framing unless you ask for it, and never any mention of illness, cause, age or date.
• Dedication. Most people write two lines. Some write a name and a date. Both are right.

Nobody arrives with a manuscript. The questions we ask are small on purpose:

• Where did they sleep, and where were they not supposed to sleep?
• What did they do when you came through the door?
• What made them ridiculous?
• What's the thing you'd tell someone who never met them?

Answer three of those and there's enough for a book. Our journal piece on what to write in a pet memorial book has worked examples.

Making one for someone else? You only need the details you know — a name, a likeness, one or two things they always said about them. Ask a family member for the rest, and write the dedication yourself. It's worth checking with the person first: people almost always want it, they just don't want it to arrive unannounced during a bad week.