Bellatrix LeDog, aka Bella, Boo Boo, Bella Bear, and the four-legged love of my life, passed away in the wee hours of November 11. She was not quite 14.
Bella was 3 years old when we got “the call” from the Longmont Humane Society (LHS):
LHS: Hi, Vic. We have a dog …
Vic: We’re not looking for a dog.
LHS: … who has tested positive for distemper and bordetella.
Vic: …
LHS: She needs to get out of the shelter as soon as possible.
Vic: …
LHS: She’s one of our shy dogs.
Vic: When do you need me to pick her up?
Wags had just left us for the Rainbow Bridge a few months earlier, and then we had the Shyla foster—the sweet girl who was with us for nine Love-filled days before she died of an intestinal blockage. We were, as you might imagine, a little wary. But Vic brought her home, and she fit right in to our introverted household—as a foster dog, of course. We would routinely take her down to the clinic at the shelter for follow-up testing because when she got a clean bill of health, she could return to the adoption floor.
The last time we picked her up, she ran to us and jumped up with her two front feet. One of the trainers there, Max, said, “Whoa, she’s never done that with any of us.”
Welp, that was it. If she hadn’t warmed up to anyone else the way she warmed up to us, we were just gonna need to adopt her.
And she was always what she advertised: a shy dog who was always mistrustful of strangers—even long after they shouldn’t have been strangers; who would always be pretty independent (unless I was going to the bathroom, and then she needed to be right beside me); and who would never be a “real” dog who played tug of war, chased the ball or liked squeaky toys. We took her to the dog park. She literally just stood next to us the whole time. We took her to doggy swim. She literally just stood next to us the whole time.
And we never forced her to be anything other than herself.
Vic always said he got her for me. By the time Wags—his dog, 100%—died, he was 70. He wanted Bella to be my dog, so he was always kind to her, but always wanted her to love me more. And she did. So when he passed away five years ago, she mourned him for a few days, and then just came right back to me.
I failed her spectacularly in those first months. I didn’t walk her enough. I sometimes forgot to feed her. To the very end, I had to have an alarm on my phone to remind me to check her water. But as all good dogs do, she forgave me every time.
She was a healthy dog all her life. She was starting to have problems with straining her limbs when she would zoomie too hard or jump from the door of the garage to the floor—completely bypassing the three stairs to the bottom. She had two urinary tract infections this year. But every time the vet examined her, he or she would mention that she seemed younger than her age. This would not serve me well, because it meant I was completely unprepared for her death.
The end was sudden. She had a mass on her spleen—an aggressive form of cancer—and it ruptured.
She did not suffer for long—her spleen probably ruptured around 1 a.m., and by 1:30, I could tell she was in distress, so I took her to the emergency vet. They gave her oxygen, made her comfortable and did an ultrasound. They knew right away how dire her situation was. They called me back to the treatment area and explained my options: surgery, which carried a 50/50 survival rate and a brutal recovery for a senior dog, or chemotherapy, which would leave her with no quality of life for maybe six extra months. The cancer had likely spread all through her body. Because of her age and prognosis, the vet’s recommendation was euthanasia.
If I couldn’t have her forever, then my hope had always been that I would have enough time to call one of those services that comes to your home and puts your dog to sleep there. We did that for Wags, and it was very peaceful. That definitely would have made Bella happier. But the vet said that without the oxygen they were providing her, she wouldn’t even make it through the night.
As I mentioned, Vic died five years ago. I miss him every day. But I have never missed him more than I did sitting in that ER and having to make that decision by myself. Yet later in the morning, I realized that I hadn’t really been alone. Because in the end, I made the decision that I knew he would have made—I knew he wouldn’t want to prolong her suffering, and I didn’t either. So I stayed with her for about an hour, just petting her and telling her she was a good dog and that I loved her, and then I kissed her on the head and they gave her the shot. She died instantly. She was ready. I never would have been.
Bella never wanted to cause me any distress. She never “told” me when her leg was hurting, when it was too hot or too cold for a walk, when she was hungry because I forgot to feed her. She just waited for me to figure it out. Her last gift to me was to pass away when she knew I was going to be out of the office for a few days. I’m convinced that she heard me saying all day Tuesday, “Remember, I’m going to be out for the rest of the week.”
As always, I leave you with a few pictures of my darling girl, who is back with Vic and is getting to know all of our pets, along with our families’ and friends’ pets, who arrived at the Rainbow Bridge before her. That thought gives me comfort.
Hug your loved ones—human and furry—a little tighter today. You never know how long you’ll have with them.
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| Bella's first day with us |
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| Always curious |
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| She learned early on that Mom liked to sleep late in the morning. |
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| Our first family portrait—we never got one that didn't look like we were trying to strangle her. |
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| Always a little wary |
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| She always looked a little worried. |
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| My sweet little girl |
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| This is the Day 1 picture above—as a Pixar character. I love how AI perfectly captured her signature worried look. |
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| Here we are as Peanuts characters from that first family photo above. Notice how AI wanted her to be happier. 😆 |
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| Here she's a character from The Simpsons. Back to the worried look. |
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| And finally we have Muppet Bella. |
