Hi all! To preface this post, I have a bit of the shining to me. But it’s annoyingly unpredictable and often cryptic.
Cutting to the chase! In October, we lost our dog of thirteen years. Her name was Bella (and no, I didn’t name her after Twilight, though it was en vogue at the time). As a two month old puppy, she witnessed the murder of her then owner. She was one of six pups. Ironically, her brother was adopted by my parents’ neighbor. They’d ardently play through the chain link fence whenever we visited home.
I raised her in my first year alone at college. She and I were practically attached at the hip. She accompanied me throughout the six years it took to get my freakin degree, marrying my best friend, and moving across the country. I am trying to express the depths of my love for her and the words just fall short.
Five years ago, I took up the notion that we needed to adopt a sister for her. I think this was a mildly telepathic moment, but she was eight and I figured it would be good to close out her last years with a companion. Then she started losing her fur and gaining weight.
Six months after we adopted our second dog, Arya, Bella went blind. She had cataracts and undiagnosed diabetes. We were told that the $6000 surgery might not even work and we’re too poor for it anyway. She was insanely intelligent and, after a bout of depression, coped swimmingly.
One day, her breath became labored and I knew that our time was almost up. In the two days leading up to her death, we were literally attached at the hip. I’ve got a lot of experience with death and knew she was terrified. I held her in my arms as she took her last breath.
After she died, I immediately started looking for a puppy. I wasn’t trying to replace Bella. I knew that I never could. I’d raised Bella on my own and Arya was two when we adopted her. I thought it would be good to raise a puppy together. It’s certainly tested my husband’s patience.
We adopted Lydia two and a half weeks after Bella died. She’s, well, a puppy and a Shepherd mix to boot. The only way to calm her down is to wear her out. Today, while I was at work, my husband took her on a walk, which sufficiently tired her.
I’d just done yoga and was meditating. This is now a rarity, since Lydia is always crawling on the mat, vying for attention. But today, she sidled up to me whilst I meditated.
I laid down with her on the yoga mat. She was the little spoon and I, the big one. Bella and I always fell asleep like this together. I was telling Lydia that I loved her and that it was nice to cuddle her like I’d done with Belly (my nickname for her).
Then, I talked about how much I missed Belly. As I talked to her and cuddled her, I felt the unmistakable feeling of a dog’s nose nudging me on the thigh. I felt there, thinking it was Arya. But she was on the couch. It’s nice to know that, even though I can’t hold her, my baby’s still there.
TLDR: My dead dog nudged me.
submitted by /u/janasaurus87
[link] [comments]Hi all! To preface this post, I have a bit of the shining to me. But it’s annoyingly unpredictable and often cryptic. Cutting to the chase! In October, we lost our dog of thirteen years. Her name was Bella (and no, I didn’t name her after Twilight, though it was en vogue at the time). As a two month old puppy, she witnessed the murder of her then owner. She was one of six pups. Ironically, her brother was adopted by my parents’ neighbor. They’d ardently play through the chain link fence whenever we visited home. I raised her in my first year alone at college. She and I were practically attached at the hip. She accompanied me throughout the six years it took to get my freakin degree, marrying my best friend, and moving across the country. I am trying to express the depths of my love for her and the words just fall short. Five years ago, I took up the notion that we needed to adopt a sister for her. I think this was a mildly telepathic moment, but she was eight and I figured it would be good to close out her last years with a companion. Then she started losing her fur and gaining weight. Six months after we adopted our second dog, Arya, Bella went blind. She had cataracts and undiagnosed diabetes. We were told that the $6000 surgery might not even work and we’re too poor for it anyway. She was insanely intelligent and, after a bout of depression, coped swimmingly. One day, her breath became labored and I knew that our time was almost up. In the two days leading up to her death, we were literally attached at the hip. I’ve got a lot of experience with death and knew she was terrified. I held her in my arms as she took her last breath. After she died, I immediately started looking for a puppy. I wasn’t trying to replace Bella. I knew that I never could. I’d raised Bella on my own and Arya was two when we adopted her. I thought it would be good to raise a puppy together. It’s certainly tested my husband’s patience. We adopted Lydia two and a half weeks after Bella died. She’s, well, a puppy and a Shepherd mix to boot. The only way to calm her down is to wear her out. Today, while I was at work, my husband took her on a walk, which sufficiently tired her. I’d just done yoga and was meditating. This is now a rarity, since Lydia is always crawling on the mat, vying for attention. But today, she sidled up to me whilst I meditated. I laid down with her on the yoga mat. She was the little spoon and I, the big one. Bella and I always fell asleep like this together. I was telling Lydia that I loved her and that it was nice to cuddle her like I’d done with Belly (my nickname for her). Then, I talked about how much I missed Belly. As I talked to her and cuddled her, I felt the unmistakable feeling of a dog’s nose nudging me on the thigh. I felt there, thinking it was Arya. But she was on the couch. It’s nice to know that, even though I can’t hold her, my baby’s still there. TLDR: My dead dog nudged me. submitted by /u/janasaurus87 [link] [comments]
