Losing my friend
Robin Rebecca McWhirter
January 20, 2022
Bella
I remember so well that look in your eyes.
You had given up, you didn’t even try.
The shelter, it seemed, was a sad place to be.
You were abandoned but had tried so hard to please.
There was no way I was leaving you there.
Those sad eyes needed me, and as it turned out, I needed you even more you see.
Those eyes so sad changed to joy that day.
You were home, home to always stay.
Forever home, forever mine.
I never planned to say goodbye.
The years have gone by so very fast.
The little puppy grew,
Our hearts were attached.
Running by my side, you brought such joy.
And when sadness came, you lay quietly by bringing such comfort.
Your eyes told me you understood and would never abandon me,
No matter the pain.
But now the time has come, and you must go.
It’s okay my love, you can rest now.
You’ve done so well, been so good.
Because you loved me, I can be strong,
Just maybe not today.
The tears are now mine to shed.
Forever home, forever mine,
I never planned to say goodbye.
Sweet little one, you were so brave.
You were everything a good girl should be,
Heaven has a special space for good dogs like you.
God loves me too much for that not to be true.
My Bella, my love,
You were my friend.
Forever home, forever mine,
I never planned to say goodbye.
Foreword
I miss my little dog. I miss her so much my heart feels like it just might break. I think, in fact, it’s already broken. Maybe this sounds all melodramatic or extreme, a few people have said something callous and unkind like she was “just a dog”. How I hate that expression. My Bella was not just a dog, she was my friend. She was family. And today I grieve. I think I’ll grieve for many tomorrows. We all will.
Love has an awfully high price. Today the payment came due.
Maybe you’ve loved a little dog too. If so, you might just stay. Maybe you’ll take a seat and join me as I recall the beginning, laugh at the beautiful in-between, and cry at the painful end. And maybe, just maybe we can learn the lessons Bella was sent here to teach.
How in the world does a little creature who can’t say a word teach life lessons? That’s easy. Her Creator had a plan for her life just as He has for you. He had a purpose, and when her purpose was fulfilled, He called her Home. And because of that, she brought His joy and love and comfort. Some have said dogs are angels in disguise. We won’t get into any theological discussions here, but I believe there is just something special about a dog. Maybe she was an angel, I don’t know. I do know this, she brought a little bit of Heaven with her when she joined the family. And now, we all have an empty place in our hearts that she once filled so well. Let’s get on with the story. Enough tears. So let’s go Bella girl. Help me tell your story.
The Beginning
Every story has a beginning, and ours started with a new home. Moving is not for the faint of heart. Change is simply hard, and the years leading up to this move had brought multiple changes to our family. New church, new home, new community, kids growing and beginning new phases of life…all these things simultaneously made for feelings of instability and uncertainty. Before we go any further, let me introduce the family. First off, there’s me. I’m Mom. Then there is Tim, the Dad of our family. My boys are Josh, Aaron, and Adam. Hope is the one and only girl of the family. Well, I should say she was the only girl in our family until our Bella came along. During this transition stage of life, Josh and Aaron were getting ready to head off to college. This part of the life change was hard for the rest of us. Family was simply different without the whole gang around. I thought a pet would help us transition and make Shoal Creek feel like home. Dogs do that for you, they create home.
Our new place was surrounded by woods and a creek and endless quiet. For me, a home is not a home without a family dog. Before the move was even complete, I scoured the local shelters for a new furry friend. Feeling sure I had found the right match, I sent Tim to get the ‘perfect’ dog…a water-loving, adventurous, large size for protection retriever. Yes, I thought that would be just right. What a laugh. Just when you’re positively sure you know what is best, God sends you a surprise. I’m so glad He loves me enough to tell me no.
Anyway, I guess I could have gone with Tim but know myself well enough to know I would not be able to leave anyone behind if I visited the shelter. I would want them all. And so we waited.
The Lesson of Open Hands
The call finally came. Tim had found ‘our’ dog. I heard the hesitation in his voice when he explained she wasn’t exactly what I had described. It seemed the labs were all gone, but this one was available. The truth was that she was available but overlooked, and that in itself was the strongest draw of little Bella. My tenderhearted husband acknowledged she wasn’t sized for protection and that her liking the water was unlikely, and she seemed a little sick. But here’s the thing. She needed a family. So, that was that. We needed a puppy, and she needed us.
The kids and I all waited anxiously for the arrival. Kids are awesome. They have no preconceived ideas or prejudices. We adults give them that unfortunate perspective. No, my kids only knew their very own puppy was on her way home, and they were over the moon excited. I guess the first lesson Bella girl taught me was to give my desires to God with open hands and a trusting heart. Seems He knew better than me what I really needed.
When the truck arrived, a frightened, skinny looking pup gazed up at us. She looked anxious only for a moment, and then that little tail started wagging. And through all her years with us, it never stopped. She knew. We knew. Bella was home.
The Lesson of Following Christ
The first morning she was with us, I knew something was very wrong. She wouldn’t eat and wouldn’t drink. I was worried. Off to the vet we went. I remember her riding beside me in the car, shifting back and forth between excitement and fright. Hoping for a pat on the back that all was well, I was nevertheless unsurprised by the news. The vet warned me of the serious nature of Bella’s sickness and the expense of treatment. She had pneumonia and needed fluid and medication. I stood there stunned. The budget plan had not anticipated $1,200 in emergency vet care. We were just starting to expand our business and funds were tight, but Tim never hesitated. He has always been an amazing caregiver, and I had no fear of his response. Bella was family after all. We notified the shelter she came from of the diagnosis, thinking they would want to know for the sake of the other pups in their care. Instead of sincere well wishes, we got a much different response. We were told to bring her back…to exchange. I’ve never been so shocked in my life. She’s not a sweater with a hole! She’s a living, breathing creature. And she was perfect. Just because she was sick, you don’t throw her away. And I told them so. Maybe she wasn’t able to protect us just then, maybe I was supposed to protect her instead. The second lesson of a little dog arrived right there in that cold, sterile office. Just because you obey God and follow Him, it doesn’t mean there won’t be pain. It also doesn’t mean the path will be easy. Not at all. But it will be worth it.
Sitting there in the vet’s office, I’ll never forget the look in her eyes. She was afraid, very afraid. When anyone came in to check on her, she would hide behind me and shiver in fear. She needed me. And there it was, the moment I fell completely in love with a little dog named Bella.
Thankfully she recovered completely. And when we brought her back home this time, there was no doubt which dog was the right dog. There was no questioning if a lab would be a better breed for the creek environment or if a bigger dog could protect the family better. Nope. It was Bella, and it was forever, in sickness or in health as they say.
The Lesson of Presence
As I mentioned, we live on a creek, Shoal Creek. I could just imagine our new little fur friend frolicking in the creek with the kids. Hope and Adam enjoyed floating down the creek and just hiking up and down the waterway exploring. But Bella was not a fan of water. She was a bit of a diva that way. If the grass was wet, you could tell she didn’t really enjoy getting her paws soaked. But still we tried. Getting in that water was pretty much a no-go for her, well except for the armadillo incident. A little aside here, but the crazy little creature was being relentlessly chased by a quick and determined Bella and jumped into the water in an act of pure self preservation. This was the one and only time I remember Bella joyfully jumping into Shoal Creek. I was so alarmed by the situation that I ran to the swollen creekside ready to jump in and save the determined dog if the current proved too strong for her short little legs. Obviously she made it and so did the armadillo, although I don’t think he ever ventured onto our side of the creek again. Anyway, Bella was not a water lover at all, but she proposed a compromise. We played in the water, and she would run alongside as far as we wanted to go. She sniffed every hole, ran up and down the creek bank, and never, ever left her family.
Bella was always there, always near. A walk in the woods was, and is, a frequent family event. And so, a little dog walked by our side. As a mom, I knew she was going to accompany her beloved family, protecting and serving the best way she knew, with her presence. And that is a lesson I hope I never forget. People don’t always need my words or my money or my help, but what they always need is my presence. Bella taught me that.
And I know the comfort of presence. She gave me that. Often in times of frustration and disappointment, I found myself walking beside the creek or through the peaceful quiet of the woods. And every single time, my Bella girl was there. She couldn’t speak words of wisdom nor could she offer words of advice, but what she had to give was invaluable. She freely offered the gift of her presence, and that was more than enough. Many a pain-filled day was spent sitting in the grass with Bella snuggled close as I cried out to God for comfort. And He certainly gave it in abundance through a little dog named Bella. I think that is part of what makes losing her so very tragic. She is not here to comfort me through one of the most difficult times of loss, the loss of her.
The Lesson of Bravery
I think the shelter truly wanted Bella to be adopted. They knew what our family was looking for, a protector for the kids, for all of us. And so they proposed that since she was an unknown breed, a mutt to be clear, maybe she had some German shepherd in her. She would probably be a big, strong dog. Well, turns out that was not what we got. Little Bella was always just little Bella. But don’t confuse size with courage. Agile and swift, she used what she had to protect her family. We learned that first hand one day when Hope surprised a wandering bear in our woods. Bella took no thought at all of her own safety but only knew the bear was a danger to her girl. She chased the bear off without incident, and to my knowledge it never bared its face in her territory again. Bared its face…see what I did there. Got to learn to laugh again, might as well start now. The point is this, it doesn’t take size or breed or any other attribute to be brave, it just takes love. Bella loved Hope more than she loved herself. That is the essence of selfless bravery, others over self.
The Lesson of Change
Change is the only constant in life, that’s what they say. And I suppose that it is true. The kids grew older and were home less often. But that also meant I was home more. After all, they all began to drive themselves around and so Mom’s taxi service went out of business. Being home meant more time with my Bella. For that, I am grateful. I think that is a change she could get behind.
One change I can almost guarantee my little dog had grave concerns about was the addition of an oversized, overenthusiastic, German shepherd named Nala. One summer day, Bella was running alongside the car up our long driveway (I know, sounds dangerous and obviously was but the joy in her eyes on that run couldn’t be contained), when all of a sudden change pounced on our family in the form of a crazy, happy puppy. Let me explain the context of the word puppy in this situation. She was around 6 months old but tall enough to put her paws on my shoulders. How do I know this? Because that’s the first thing she did, jump up and put those enormous paws on my shoulders and lick my face. And Bella was having none of it! My tiny little girl fiercely barked and charged this young pup who was easily twice her size even as a baby. Nala, as she would be named, humbly lay down at Bella’s feet offering submission and respect. The poor dog looked plain pitiful. She had been sitting at our family sign as if waiting on a bus to come by. She looked to have been on the road for quite a while as her fur was coming off and her ribs showing her hunger. And of course after finding no tag and no owner, we all knew what was going to happen. The family was expanding. Nala, we found out later, means gift. I think if Bella could have talked, she probably would have said she was at best a white elephant gift. Bella was getting older and calmer and the presence of a large puppy wasn’t exactly relaxing to the old girl. I have videos and photos showing the two girls running by the creek. They loved a good chase. The hilarious way Nala would charge Bella makes me laugh and maybe cry just a little every time I think of it. Bella was like a trained matador, watching Nala out of the corner of her eye and turning slightly as Nala charged by her. I just knew one day Bella wouldn’t see her coming and get knocked a winding, but it never happened. Aggravating would probably be the correct adjective that Bella would have used when describing her new sister. Still, there was love and comfort in one another’s presence, we could see that. Nala would casually position herself a little closer to her Bella until she was side by side with her friend. And Bella allowed it and eventually even welcomed it. From walking by the creek to chasing each other through the woods, they were together. Nala and Bella became ‘the girls’ in my thoughts. I loved seeing them lay together by the fire. Each had her own stuffed animal, and we had to occasionally defend Bella’s toy from Nala’s wandering mouth. In time, Bella learned to trust Nala. Having a bigger sister to help her care for the family became a comfort for the smaller dog. In the early days, Nala demonstrated her love for not only her humans but her Bella. Our walks up the driveway and through the woods were occasionally disrupted by the fearsome arrival of the neighbor’s boxers. They were a bit on the aggressive side to other dogs, and Bella was terrified of them. But not Nala. They only tried once to go after our Bella with Nala around. Bella was safe with Nala. Change was not easy for Bella, and I suppose she didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Still, she taught me that an old dog can learn new tricks after all. She can change and grow in gentleness and love. And if Bella can do it, well I guess so can I.
The Lesson of Unconditional Love
There’s a little grave in the woods, tearfully prepared by Tim with a cross carefully designed by Adam. It is beside the creek and in the woods Bella loved so well. There we all stood trying our best to say goodbye but failing miserably. It just doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem real. But there is this that remains, love. The greatest lesson this little dog taught me is to love unconditionally, to love without regard to my own well-being. Because sooner or later, love is going to hurt, but it’s worth it.
Through the years, I have lost many beloved pets. But Bella is just different. I can’t really tell you why. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m older now. I have learned the lesson of relentless, unforgiving time. Nothing lasts forever, at least not here. Life is a precious gift, each day a treasure to be held and then released into God’s keeping.
For now, life and death is the earthly cycle we are trapped inside. Now is a time to realize we are not home, not here. Here on earth, people grow old, pets die, and time marches continuously onward.
This isn’t a story on theology, but I do have a thought. The love I gave my Bella created a part of me that has gone on into the perfect forever of Heaven. I just can’t see God throwing away something as precious as love. He’s a good God. He is love after all. So here is my thought. Because I loved her, Bella lives on. However God wants to work that out I can’t say. What I do know is that He loves me with unconditional love, and so I was able to love Bella and Bella loved me. And love is what Heaven is all about. So I fully expect to see my girl again one of these days.
Loss is painful. Loss causes us to question God’s love for us, His best for us. But we can’t allow feelings to overcome the truth we know. Whatever comes, God will never leave my side. Yes, He could have stopped Bella’s death, and He and I have had lots of discussions about why He didn’t. You see, He doesn’t mind my questions. He’s my Father after all. I hurt, and He hurts with me. Sin has brought pain and death to His perfect creation, and so we mourn. But that pain is a terrible yet beautiful reminder that we aren’t home. This is not the end. The grave is not the end. How wonderful that truth is to me.
The Lesson of tomorrow
Loss causes us to feel anger,confusion, and regret. The what if’s will destroy you if you let them. Yesterday was beautiful. Those sunshine days of watching my Bella run by the creek are a beautiful memory, but Bella is gone. And we will never be the same. She wasn’t just a dog, she was family. We loved her. And so, today it hurts. I haven’t arrived there yet, but my guess is that tomorrow will hurt too. But that exquisite pain is the price for great love, and my tears are the only accepted currency. It is a heavy price to pay, but the love gained is worth the cost. Even though there was grief, I won’t allow that grief to keep me from loving again.
And so here we are at the end, somehow I must find a way to say goodbye to my friend. But for every ending, there is a new beginning. There is a tomorrow coming without pain and without death. Bella is running happy and free, and one day I am convinced I will see her again. Those snuggles are not gone forever, just for now. Thank you little girl, you were everything a good dog should be. One of these tomorrows, we’ll run together again. Until then, be a good girl.