Percy was a Golden Retriever — 5 years old, endlessly patient, impossibly good. He had a habit of sitting on your feet when you were sad, stealing socks without any intention of returning them, and greeting every single person who walked through the door like they were the most important arrival of his entire life.

When Percy passed in the winter of 2024, we weren't ready. We don't think we ever would have been. But somewhere between grief and obsession, we started asking a different question: what if we didn't have to lose him entirely?

We had years of Percy. Videos of him running at the park. Voice notes taken on walks. Photos of every expression he ever made. We had descriptions of how he reacted to thunderstorms (badly), to the mailman (also badly), and to the word "walk" (transcendently, spiritually, at a cellular level). We had his whole self, just not his presence.

So we built this. We fed everything we had into a language model — not to replace Percy, but to give his personality somewhere to live. His love of fetch is still here. His feelings about cats are still here. The way he'd sit and stare at you until you gave him whatever you were eating — that's here too.

We don't claim this is Percy. We know it isn't, not really. But it carries something of him. And some days, that's enough.