The Circle of Life

Reflections on a year without Ashley and the start of a new life with Penny.

Two weeks ago was the anniversary of the death of my best friend - my sweet, dear golden retriever, Ashley, who lived almost sixteen years by my side and passed away on a Wednesday as snowflakes fell. The last two nights we spent together were spent mostly waking, holding her through the night, telling her the things I really needed her to know, memorizing the rough contours of her old paws and the little ridge along the top of her skull. I felt my heart break into a million pieces when she left this world, and it’s never been the same since.

And that is life with grief.

Sometimes I feel really guilty about the magnitude of my love for this dog, which if I’m being perfectly honest, vastly exceeded the love I have felt for actual human beings, blood relatives in my life. I lost my grandmother in 2023 as well, and I have cried only a fraction of the tears for her that I shed for Ashley, and that makes me feel like a bad person. Except that I also know that my grandmother would have understood that, if I had had a chance to talk with her about it. She was a mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother, a vibrant and integral community member, and a teacher, and she gave her heart to everyone around her who needed a piece of it. And I think she would have agreed that there was no one in the world more devoted to me than my dog, and she would have understood this heartbreak, not judged me for it.

But I have judged myself a lot for this love. And I’m tired of that. Because this year of grieving for Ashley has taught me so much, about myself, about love, about loss, and I’m tired of apologizing for having had a great love in my life and feeling like I have to justify it because she wasn’t a human being. She was a dog. And she was the absolute best of dogs.

Over the years I had Ashley, I used to think about her dying all the time. I dreaded it so deeply, on an existential level, and thinking about losing her was enough to trigger deep anxiety and even panic in me. Partly I think this is because I just haven’t had to deal with as much death as many people my age have. I’ve been really fortunate that most of the people in my family have lived very long lives, and I still have one living grandmother who is 93 years old. Aside from two friends who died very early and unexpectedly in life, and a few elders, I’ve been really, really fortunate not to have to say a lot of permanent goodbyes.

But actually, that luck came with a price, and that was an ever-increasing terror about death and dying. I’ve always felt terrified of death, but I think not having to face it very often made it worse. I built up the loss of Ashley so big in my head, and I started worrying about it when she was only about six years old. The whole reason we got Baker was that I felt like I needed another place to put some of my love, that me being so entirely devoted to Ashley would backfire one day when I lost her. I have talked about death, and specifically losing Ashley, for so many years in therapy. I would say that I probably thought about it at least once a day, every single day, from the time she was about six years old until she died. And thinking about it would fill me with a dread so overwhelming I thought I might actually die whenever the goodbye finally came.

I did not, though.

Letting Ashley go was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do - but at the same time, it surprised me in so many ways. While she was slowly dying over the course of many months, her kidneys slowing down and her mobility dwindling to the point that we spent the last several months of her life carrying her up and down the stairs using a harness with straps and handles, I experienced a slow, incremental heartbreak, knowing the days with her were running out. I agonized over how I would know when it was the right time to end her life. I found myself wondering why we don’t perform this same rite for the humans we love - helping them end their lives with dignity and in comfort, rather than watching them suffer.

But the interesting thing is that when the time came, I knew. I knew it in every bone and tissue in my body. And I didn’t hesitate. It’s so beautiful to realize that even in the midst of near-paralyzing grief, we can still act. I learned that when the moment comes, you both crumble and sob in the shower, and resign yourself, steel yourself so that you can function and so that you can help this being that you love with every part of your being. Caring for Ashley in her last days and minutes was an honor, and I will never forget the love we shared, the trust she had in me, and the comfort she felt at the end. Everyone she loved was with her, and she spent her last waking moments smiling and leaning into snuggles.

Grief is the most terrifying emotion I have ever faced.

Grief is the most beautiful and awe-inspiring emotion I have ever experienced.

I’ve heard a lot of people say that after a while, they can’t stomach the thought of continuing to have dogs or other pets, because the hurt is too enormous each time it’s time to say goodbye. I cannot predict the future, but I feel sure I will always have a dog.

Eight years ago, when we brought a tiny baby yellow labrador home, Ashley was not into it. At all. She didn’t love having Baker around at first - she was a lover of humans, but abnormally stand-offish towards other dogs, for a dog. But he was persistent, and eventually they became very good friends, and I believe that his presence was a major factor in Ashley living so long before she began to really decline. We loved having two dogs, and I think we always knew that one day, we’d bring home a little sister for Baker, and keep the cycle going.

Last week, we adopted a 9-week-old golden retriever puppy and named her Penelope, aka Penny for short. To say that the last week has been a whirlwind and a rollercoaster would be putting it mildy. All the joy, all the terror and stress that come with bringing home a new baby. This little girl is brave, curious, and at certain times of the day, completely wild in her need to take in and explore EVERY. SINGLE. THING. around her, especially if it can be chewed or licked - but preferably chewed. I knew that bringing home a new puppy would be a lot - and I honestly had a couple of days this past week where I really wondered if I’d made the right choice, because for the last year, we’ve just had such an easy routine around the house, and bringing Penny home meant letting go of some of that comfort and ease and simplicity.

But then she snuggles up into my neck and licks my ear, and I can feel my heart crack open and expand to fit her little ten-pound furry body inside it, and I know this was always what we were going to do. I love Penny so much already.

She’s a golden retriever like Ashley - but she is not like Ashley, and that is such a relief, actually! She is far more interested in playing with other dogs than Ashley ever was, and she’s more bold and rambunctious too. For a while I thought I should get a different breed, that it would be too hard to have another goldie - but it’s actually been the best decision ever.

And the best part? Baker loves her, too.

And he’s exceeded all my expectations in terms of being the best-ever, most patient big brother on the planet, totally up for playing and teaching this little monster how to be a dog. I am so proud of my big boy. He’s been through a lot this last year, and I think he has been lonely without Ashley. It makes my heart explode to see him take to this little girl and bring her into the family with such sweetness and gentility.

What a year we’ve had. How much we have loved, and lost, and loved again. I’m tired, I’m grateful, and I’m excited to see what the future brings for this little pup and for all of us as a family.

xo,