Writing Letters to Your Dog
- Fruzsina Moricz
- Jan 9
- 11 min read
Updated: 6 days ago
About 18% of pet owners in the U.S. now describe their animals as emotional support animals, and more than 85% of dog owners say their dog has improved their mental health in a meaningful way.[7] That’s not just “I love my dog.” That’s “this relationship is holding me together.”
If you’ve ever found yourself writing to your dog—on your phone, in a notebook, in your head—saying things you cannot say to anyone else, you’re not being strange or sentimental. You’re doing something that quietly fits into a much larger pattern: humans using dogs as safe places for feelings that feel too heavy, too complicated, or too “too much” for the rest of the world.
This article is about that: the letters you write (or could write) to your dog, the feelings you tuck inside them, and why this odd little habit is actually deeply sane—especially when you’re caring for a dog with chronic illness, or relying on them as your emotional anchor.
Why dogs are such good keepers of secrets
There’s a biological reason it feels easier to tell your dog the truth than to tell most people.
Studies on emotional support animals and companion dogs show:
Interacting with a dog can reduce stress hormones like cortisol and increase oxytocin, the hormone linked to bonding and calm.[2][4][6][7]
In one survey, 62% of people with emotional support animals reported improved mental well-being during difficult times, compared with 19% of people without that support.[2]
Over 85% of dog owners—and 88% of ESA owners—say their dog has had a positive impact on their mental health, compared with 55% of non-ESA pet owners.[7]
In other words, your body literally settles in the presence of your dog. Your heart rate may drop; your shoulders loosen. The part of your brain that’s constantly scanning for social danger (“Will they judge me?” “Will they leave?”) goes quiet.
That’s the backdrop against which you write:
“I’m so scared of losing you.”
“I’m angry this is happening to your body.”
“You got me through the worst year of my life and I don’t know how to say thank you.”
Those words land in a nervous system already softened by your dog’s presence. Writing to your dog isn’t just cute. It’s chemistry, attachment, and psychology working together.
Letters as a private doorway to feelings
There isn’t much research specifically on “letters to dogs.” But we know a lot about two related things:
Writing about emotions helps people process them.
Dogs are unusually safe recipients of our emotional mess.
The broader human–animal interaction literature shows that pets often act as “confidants” for feelings that are too raw or stigmatized to share with humans.[6][9] People talk to their dogs about:
Depression and anxiety
Trauma and PTSD
Caregiver burnout
Loneliness and social isolation
Guilt, resentment, and fear around chronic illness—either their own or their dog’s
Letters to your dog are simply a more deliberate version of that same instinct.
You might notice:
You can write things you’d never say out loud, even to your closest friend.
You’re more honest when you imagine talking to your dog than when you imagine talking to a therapist.
The letter starts out “to the dog,” and ends up revealing what you actually need from the humans around you.
That’s not an accident. It’s a psychological workaround: you borrow the dog’s non-judgmental presence to sneak past your own internal censor.
“But he can’t read.” What your dog understands—and what’s yours alone
A quiet tension runs through all of this: you know your dog can’t read, and yet you feel understood.
Here’s what research actually suggests:
Dogs are very good at reading emotional cues—tone of voice, facial expression, posture, and even some aspects of our scent when we’re stressed.[9]
They can respond differently to happy vs. angry voices, and they often seek proximity or contact when their person is distressed.[9]
What we don’t know, and probably never will in a precise way:
How much of our emotional content dogs “understand” vs. how much they’re simply responding to patterns they’ve learned (sad voice = come closer, etc.).
Whether they have any concept of “secrets” or “confessions,” beyond sensing our state and adjusting their behavior.
So yes, your dog doesn’t know you’ve just written, “I’m terrified I made the wrong treatment decision.”
But they do know:
Your breathing changed.
You’re a bit quieter, or softer, or clingier.
Something in you is asking for closeness.
The paradox is that the meaning of your letter is for you. The felt shift in your body—and the way your dog responds to that—is where the two of you actually meet.
You’re not wrong to feel like your dog “knows.” They know in their own way. And the rest of that knowing is yours, and it matters.
The kinds of things we write but can’t say
People rarely write, “You’re a good dog. Love, me,” and stop there. Letters to dogs often carry the feelings that don’t fit anywhere else.
Here are some of the common themes, especially in chronic care and aging:
1. Gratitude that feels too big
When a dog has seen you through depression, divorce, illness, or trauma, “thank you” feels almost insulting in its smallness.
You might write:
“You were the only reason I got out of bed.”
“You loved me when I didn’t like myself at all.”
“You kept me in this world when I wanted to disappear.”
Putting this in a letter can make the debt feel named, even if it can never be repaid.
2. Anger you don’t want to aim at anyone
Chronic illness, pain, and behavioral issues create a lot of quiet anger:
At the disease.
At the cost and complexity of care.
At your own body or brain.
At the unfairness of it happening to this dog.
It can feel socially unacceptable to say, “I’m furious this is happening,” especially if others expect you to be “grateful for the time you have.”
Writing to your dog lets you say:
“I’m so mad that your body is betraying you.”
“I hate that I spend more time organizing your meds than enjoying you.”
No one gets hurt. Nothing needs to be fixed. The anger gets to exist.
3. Guilt that won’t leave you alone
Guilt is one of the heaviest emotions in long-term dog care:
“Did I miss the early signs?”
“Should I have chosen a different treatment?”
“Am I doing enough?”
“Am I keeping you here for me, not for you?”
These are not questions your dog can answer. But writing them to your dog can:
Make you more aware of how much responsibility you’re carrying.
Help you see where you’re holding yourself to impossible standards.
Give you language you can later bring to your vet or therapist: “I keep worrying that…”
4. Anticipatory grief: mourning before goodbye
Many people begin grieving long before their dog actually dies—when the diagnosis comes, when the walks get shorter, when the stairs become a problem.
Letters in this phase often say:
“I’m already missing the dog you used to be.”
“I don’t know how to picture my life without you.”
“I’m so scared of the moment I have to decide it’s time.”
Naming this grief on paper can be a way to honor what’s changing without rushing to acceptance or pretending you’re okay.
Why this matters for your mental health (and your dog’s care)
This all might sound deeply emotional—and it is—but it has practical implications, especially if you’re managing chronic conditions, behavioral issues, or end-of-life care.
1. Letters can reduce emotional overload
Emotional support animals are associated with reduced anxiety, improved mood, and decreased feelings of loneliness.[2][4][6][7] When you add structured emotional expression—like letter writing—you’re essentially doubling down on that support:
The dog’s presence calms your body.
The writing organizes your mind.
That combination can make it easier to:
Sleep.
Make decisions.
Communicate with your vet more clearly.
Recognize when you might need extra human support.
2. Letters can clarify what you actually need
Sometimes you only realize what you need from other humans once you’ve written it “to the dog.”
For example, you might write:
“I’m so tired of being the only one who notices your bad days.”
And then realize: this isn’t actually about your dog. It’s about feeling alone in caregiving. That insight can lead to:
Asking family members to share specific tasks.
Telling your vet, “I feel like I’m the only one tracking the subtle changes.”
Bringing that sense of isolation into therapy.
Letters turn vague distress into sentences you can work with.
3. They can improve conversations with your vet
Veterinarians often see the emotional weight owners are carrying, but they don’t always know how to invite those feelings into the room.
If you’ve been writing to your dog, you might walk into an appointment able to say:
“I’ve been writing about how guilty I feel when I see her limping after walks. I think I’m struggling to know where her ‘good day’ line really is.”
“I keep writing that I’m scared of missing the moment when his quality of life tips. Can we talk about what signs you want me to watch for?”
That’s a very different conversation from “She seems okay, I guess?”
You’re giving your vet access to the emotional data that sits alongside the medical data. That can only help.
When your dog is your emotional support (whether formally or not)
Not every dog is a legally recognized Emotional Support Animal (ESA), but many dogs function that way in practice.
Some context:
About 18% of pet owners identify their animals as ESAs.[7]
ESA and therapy dog programs are expanding rapidly; therapy dog programs in schools have been growing by about 20% annually since 2019, in part because reading and talking to dogs has been shown to boost children’s confidence and reading fluency by 12–30%.[1][5][7]
Those school programs are interesting here: children read aloud to dogs because dogs don’t correct them, laugh, or rush them. The dog’s quiet presence makes “trying and stumbling” feel safe.
You’re doing a grown-up version of that when you write letters to your dog:
You “read out loud” your hardest feelings, but to an audience who will never interrupt, advise, or flinch.
That safety lets you be braver on the page than you can be in conversation.
If your dog is formally recognized as an ESA, there’s another layer: health professionals sometimes have to write ESA letters for housing or travel. Those letters involve complex ethical decisions about need, responsibility, and boundaries.[10][11][12][13]
Your private letters to your dog sit outside that system. They’re not about legal status. They’re about the emotional reality of living with an animal who is, functionally, your lifeline.
The ethical questions no one really talks about
Even something as gentle as writing to your dog sits in a web of bigger questions.
Are we leaning too hard on our dogs?
Professionals worry that some people may rely so heavily on ESAs that they never seek human support or treatment.[6][10] That concern is valid, and it doesn’t cancel out the real comfort dogs provide.
Letter writing can actually help you notice if this is happening:
Do your letters repeatedly say, “You’re the only one I have”?
Do you feel panicky at the idea of talking to a human about any of what you write?
Do you avoid therapy because “I have my dog; I don’t need it”?
If so, the letters might be gently pointing you toward the next step: bringing some of these truths into a space where another human can help you hold them.
Are we putting human expectations on dogs?
We do humanize dogs. We call them “soulmates,” “children,” “therapists.” Some of that is poetic. Some of it can be a little unfair.
Research suggests dogs are emotionally responsive but not miniature humans.[9] They don’t understand your medical bills or your fear of your own mortality. They do understand:
Your tone.
Your patterns.
Your presence or absence.
Writing letters can actually help you keep the line clear:
The letter holds the complex human story.
The dog gets what they actually need: kindness, care, appropriate treatment, rest, and a life that feels good in their body.
Both matter. They’re just different.
How to write to your dog (without turning it into homework)
This isn’t a technique you have to “do right.” But it can help to have a loose structure, especially if you’re overwhelmed.
You might think of a letter as having three gentle parts:
What I see
“You slept most of today.”
“You still trotted to the door when I picked up your leash.”
“You’re pacing more at night.”
What I feel about it
“I’m relieved you’re still excited for walks.”
“I’m scared the pacing means you’re in pain.”
“I’m tired and I hate that I’m tired of this.”
What I wish I could ask or say
“Tell me if you’re ready to stop fighting.”
“I wish I knew if this treatment is worth it for you.”
“Thank you for staying with me through all of this.”
You can write:
In a notebook.
As notes on your phone while you sit in the vet’s parking lot.
As emails to yourself with your dog’s name as the subject.
As unsent messages in your mind when you can’t sleep.
There is no correct frequency, length, or tone. One raw paragraph can be as powerful as ten pages.
When the letters are about goodbye
At some point, for every dog, the letters change.
They start to contain:
“I’m trying to figure out when to let you go.”
“I hope you forgive me if I get the timing wrong.”
“I don’t know who I am without you.”
This is where anticipatory grief, love, and responsibility collide. There’s no research study that can tell you exactly how to navigate that. But writing can:
Create a record of how carefully you thought about your dog’s quality of life.
Show you, over time, when the good moments are shrinking and the hard ones are taking over.
Offer a place to say “I love you” and “I’m so sorry” over and over without anyone telling you you’re being dramatic.
After your dog is gone, those letters may become:
A timeline of your last months together.
Evidence that you did your best with what you knew.
A way to stay connected while your grief reorganizes itself.
They are not proof that you got everything right. They’re proof that you cared enough to wrestle with it.
When letter-writing might not be enough
For many people, writing to their dog is grounding and relieving. For others, it can stir more than it settles.
It may be time to involve a human professional if:
Your letters are full of hopelessness or thoughts of self-harm.
You feel worse after writing, not just tender but truly destabilized.
Your dog’s illness is bringing up old trauma you can’t shake.
You’re stuck in loops of self-blame you cannot interrupt.
In those cases, your letters can still be useful—brought into therapy, shared in part with a trusted person, or used as a starting point with a mental health provider.
You’re not “failing” at coping if you need more than your dog and a notebook. You’re just human, in a very hard situation.
A quiet way to honor what this really is
Therapy dog programs in classrooms, ESA statistics, oxytocin studies—all of that research is essentially saying the same thing: the human–dog bond is not a hobby. It’s a serious, measurable force in mental and emotional health.
Your letters to your dog are one small, private expression of that force.
They don’t need to be pretty. They don’t need to be wise. They don’t need to be shared.
They’re simply a way of saying:
“This relationship is shaping me.”
“This loss (or this fear, or this love) is real.”
“I need somewhere safe for the things I can’t yet say out loud.”
Your dog may never see the words. But they feel the softened shoulders, the steadier breathing, the way you reach for them after you write.
That, in the end, is the conversation you’re both having: your nervous system saying, “Stay with me,” and your dog, in their own language, saying, “I’m here.”
References
Lane, H., & Zavada, S. (2013). Reading to Dogs at Home: A Pilot Study. National Institutes of Health (NIH) – PubMed Central (PMC).
Wellness Wag. 9 Essential Elements of an Emotional Support Dog Letter Template.
Gordon, I., et al. (2020). Canine cancers as models: We have barely tapped the full potential. The Cancer Letter.
Pettable. 24 Life Changing Benefits of an ESA for Anxiety & Depression.
Hall, S. S., Gee, N. R., & Mills, D. S. (2016). Review of the Research: Are Therapy Dogs in Classrooms Beneficial? ERIC.
American Counseling Association. Confirming the benefits of emotional support animals.
ESA Pet. Emotional Support Animal Statistics: USA Impacts & Trends.
Dreamcatcher Association. My Views on Writing Letters for Emotional Support Animals.
Albuquerque, N., et al. (2016). Dogs functionally respond to and use emotional information from human expressions. NIH PMC.
American Psychological Association. Is that a pet or therapeutic aid?
TheMedNet. When do you consider writing an Emotional Support Animal (ESA) Letter for Patients with Psychiatric Illness?
American Psychiatric Association. Resource Document on Emotional Support Animals.
National Service Animal Registry (NSAR). What is an ESA Letter & Why You Need One.
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