Eternal Pawprints: A Dog's Love Lives On

In April, we said goodbye to our sweet dog, Sassy. If you knew her, you know how much she loved to love, sometimes aggressively, but always with the loveliest intention.

Brad got Sassy about six months before we started dating. While she adored me, I was a clear second to Brad. Their love was undeniable. He dressed her up in glasses, calling her Professor Sassy.  He took an old Carhartt sweater and made her a custom hoodie to match her outfit. When I’d pet Sassy, she always stared at Brad, accepting my love but wanting his. Brad would pick Sassy up, all 75 pounds, and carry her around like a baby. She loved every second she got with him.

Sassy was a soul dog. One that got you through difficult times and filled every moment with greatness. She licked away tears, snuggled at night, and gave me a reason to get up some mornings. While the reason was she was hungry and cried so loud you couldn’t sleep, it was still a reason.

In May 2019, I was eight months pregnant. The dogs were interested in my belly and much more attentive to me. I loved it. On that memorialized Wednesday, I hadn’t felt a kick for a few hours and feared the worst when we headed to the hospital. I didn't pack anything, assuming we’d be back later that night. It was dark when we kissed the dogs goodbye, and everything seemed like it would be fine. It wasn’t. About an hour later, all of the nurses and midwives came into our hospital room, and without anyone saying a word, we knew our baby had died. 

Over the next two days, I made my way through contractions, an epidural, and a TV with only Naked and Afraid on. I was either crying, sleeping, or very high from all the drugs. Time was blurry and kept by the blood pressure device going off every fifteen minutes. The weather had been beautiful, but that Friday, it rained. I remember watching it from the window, thinking Mother Nature was crying, too. At 6:39 AM, it was time to push. I vomited, cried, and screamed for my dogs.

I distinctly remember being so frightened of what was about to happen, and all I wanted were Sassy and Kayo. I held my midwife’s hand, saying I needed my dogs. She held on tight and cried with me.

I dropped my hand, reaching for the floor and searching for their heads to pet. Their soft bully fur would make everything OK. They might not have been physically in the room, but in that moment, I felt them. 

After delivering Clementine, holding her for hours, and getting numerous tests done on myself, I wanted to leave the hospital. The doctors advised me to stay, just to make sure I was OK, but I knew I needed to go. I wanted to be in bed, holding my dogs. I knew, in my bones, that home was where the healing would begin.

Walking through the door that afternoon, I knew nothing would be the same. The Carrie from before was someone I’d often recall, someone without the touch of grief. The existence and the the death of Clementine changed every aspect of my life—a me before and then a me after. And yet, when I walked into my home, I felt indifferent. I was self-aware enough to know things had changed, but at the moment, I felt nothing. Later, I’d realize my numbness was out of survival, and the feelings would all come in time. 

The dogs greeted me with the love I desperately wanted earlier that morning in the hospital bed. Their tails snapped back and forth, hitting anything within reach; their eyes got big upon seeing us, and Sassy even cried out loud. I plopped on the ground, letting their kisses bring me back to life. 

Holding them in my arms, I saw both of their front legs were raw. My mother had been taking care of them while coming and going from the hospital. 

“They started chewing themselves the night you were admitted. I didn’t want to worry you, so I didn’t say anything.” The dogs would chew on themselves when stressed, but it was rare. “They’ve been chewing non-stop since you left, almost like they knew.” 

That night, Brad and I held each other, with Sassy and Kayo snuggled between us. They snored, and we cried. We didn’t say anything; there was nothing left except to feel. Over the next few weeks, I’d have nightmares about searching for Clementine. Darkness became difficult to endure, and I slept better during the day. My mind wandered to challenging places at night. Thoughts of harming myself, leaving everything, and walking out into the streets were all I could think about. But then, I’d roll over and hold Sassy and Kayo. Their unconditional love reminded me that I still mattered. I would be missed. Of course, the people in my life reminded me of this, too, but in those late hours, the soft snores kept me going when I didn’t want to.