Recently, my family lost our beloved dog, Ellie. Her death came very suddenly. She was perfectly fine one day, and the next we were rushing her to the emergency vet. After a scary overnight visit, we found out that Ellie had an aggressive form of cancer that had also caused a blood disorder. The symptoms of each issue prevented the other from being treated. Over the next three weeks, Ellie had two emergency blood transfusions, both of which improved her condition momentarily, but ultimately didn’t hold. After the second blood transfusion, we only hoped to have a few weeks left with her. Unfortunately, however, Ellie passed away by my mom’s side just days later.
I still haven’t even begun to process Ellie’s death. She was only about eight years old, and none of us were anticipating losing her any time soon, especially because she seemed so healthy until the very end. I am filled with anger, pain, and disbelief. But most of all, I’ve just felt numb. Going home on the weekends isn’t the same without her there to greet me at the door. At first, I’m confused when I grab the bag of treats for our other pets, and she’s not at my feet waiting expectantly. The couch in our living room feels empty without her curled up next to me while I watch a movie.
While I’m sure I won’t fully process nor heal from the loss of Ellie for some time, I thought it would be cathartic to share a bit about her and celebrate her life. I won’t ever forget my sweet Ellie, and I hope that recounting my cherished memories will not only help me, but maybe some others reading who have also experienced pet loss.
Ellie was a beagle. She had beautiful big brown eyes lined with black. My family always joked that she looked like she had permanent dramatic eyeliner. She had long, velvety ears that flopped back and forth when she ran. They were so flappy that it often looked like she would take flight if she ran fast enough. I always thought that she was the most beagle-looking beagle that ever lived. She was perfectly tricolor, with a long snout and a pointy tail. She loved her family, and she loved attention. Ellie always sat right next to you whenever you sat down to relax, and would stare at you intently, pawing at you continuously until you pet her. Once you did pet her, she would headbutt your hand over and over, so you didn’t stop. It used to drive my dad crazy, and he always said she makes everything awkward. She was definitely an awkward dog and always looked weirdly intense. When we first adopted her, we already had three other beagles. It took her quite a while to learn how to wrestle and play properly with the rest of them, and she never quite got the hang of it. But that’s what I loved most about her; she was awkward and strange and so full of love.
While there’s no way around the intense pain of dealing with grief, I have some plans for things I’d like to do to cope with her loss and celebrate her life. My family got a clay pawprint from her after she passed, and I plan to display it in my dorm room. I also want to turn her collar, which was made from an old guitar strap, into a bracelet so I can feel like she’s with me when I wear it. I also plan to get a crystal ornament to hang in my window, so that when the sun refracts through it and covers my room with rainbows, I will think of her crossing the rainbow bridge, happy and at peace.
