Hi, I am Yanran and I have loved
dogs for as long as I can remember.

You might assume that someone who paints portraits for
countless dogs must have one of her own.

But the truth is, I’ve never had my own dog. My mom is afraid of them, so
growing up, having one was never an option.

My grandparents, however, once had a brown toy poodle
named CiaoCiao, the very first dog
our family. She was a mischief-maker, sneaked bites of food, love to watch
television with us, played with my uncle’s socks and empty soda bottles,
claimed our pillows as her own and absolutely hate bath.

During summer and
winter breaks, and every holiday in between, my favorite place was my
grandparents’ house. Grandpa would wake up early and sit on the balcony,
reading the newspaper, the faint scent of ink and cigarette swirling around him
like a soft spell. I would open my eyes in the morning and see him there,
holding the quiet promise of a breakfast prepared by grandma. And there,
Ciaociao was beside me.

Grandpa always taking
me to the supermarket, buying me boxes of Mushroom Choco Boy. I didn’t love
them at first, but because they were from him, I grew to treasure them. And I
liked sharing snacks with Ciaociao, but chocolates were off-limits…

Every memory I have of
my grandparents is threaded together with Ciaociao.

In the summer of 2013,
my grandpa passed away from colon cancer. When
he was ill, I prayed every night. I promised that I would become a very, very
good person, please don’t take him away. The prayers didn’t work. A year later, Ciaociao was taken from us
in a car accident. We said she had crossed the rainbow bridge, perhaps to keep
grandpa company in the heaven.

At
the time, I didn’t understand fully what it meant to lose someone you love. But
as years drifted by, the longing felt like a slow, invisible tide, pressing
against your breath. There was nothing to do but let the pain flow and the
tears fall.

I no longer pray, but I want to believe that death is not an ending, it is a begging to another dawn. The Buddha is not
confined to temples, nor is God waiting before carved stone, but in every quiet
thread that binds life to death, in every unseen connection that keeps love
from unraveling. Two strangers walk the same street,
their eyes meet, smile passes between
them. Perhaps that is what returning looks like. Or perhaps they are souls drawn
gently together by the invisible hands of fate. I still want to be a very, very
good person, and want to carry forward the love Ciaociao placed in my hands. I
want to meet her again in a moment we recognize, or in one that slips by without
our knowing.

“Hi… do you know my Ciaoqiao? She lives in heaven with
my grandpa, she was a very, very good dog.” So let me become friends with you,
and with your lovable furry family. Let me paint
their lovely little face as proof of our friendship.