Last Saturday, Ella Rosebud flew to the clouds. She was my energetic, loving puppy, adopted at eleven-weeks-old who never knew she was a rescue. The day I brought her home, she raced around my backyard, rolled in the grass and chased a mini tennis ball as though she’d been here her whole life. She was the puppy who needed to power walk five miles every morning and play with her neighborhood friends in my backyard at five o’clock every evening. She loved people, craved snuggles, and couldn’t get close enough to family, friends, and even people who came to the house to work. She tried to get under the sink with the plumber and followed the painters from room to room. Ella was my Jack Russell Ballerina – a mix of Whippet, Pointer, Cattle Dog and Jack Russell Terrier. When she turned two, she stopped aging and remained a two-year-old for twelve more years. She insisted on walking on every low wall we passed, just like a toddler. Ella loved everyone she met and never forgot anyone. If someone smiled at her, she took it as an invitation to become best friends. She especially loved kids, and I think, she thought she was one of them.  She grew up with friends’ children, each of whom came to say goodbye last Friday. Thank you, Alex, Callie and Colin.

Ella was gifted with an incredible sense of smell, sniffing out my mom’s cancer on her shin nine months before it was diagnosed, finding hidden treats in the backyard in under a minute flat, and awakening from a deep sleep to make a beeline to the kitchen every time I opened the fridge. Ella Rosebud never made it to official therapy dog status, but she was my therapy dog, and she lay still and provided comfort to my mom when she was sick. I know some of you can’t imagine my wiggly girl lying still but I have pictures to prove it. 

Then suddenly, after she turned fourteen at the end of March, the years caught up with her and she aged at the speed of light. She lost most of her hearing, developed kidney disease and arthritis, and experienced cognitive decline. Nothing I tried could soothe her for more than a minute. Multiple doses of Gabapentin and Trazodone helped her sleep for a few hours at a time, but when she was awake, she could not stop pacing and was not herself. Each week was one hundred times worse than the week before. She knew me. And then she didn’t know me. Last week, after a walk, she fell onto her side on my patio and could not right herself. There was a moment of clarity amidst the panic where she looked into my eyes asking what’s happening. I told her with my eyes and words, don’t worry. I got you. I love you so much. Then I helped her to her feet, and she walked inside for dinner and more Gabapentin. I kept my promise to her, made long ago, to never let her suffer. It was time to let her fly to the clouds. 

Last Saturday after her last breath on earth, I watched her take flight. As she soared skyward, her aging body transformed into her younger healthy self. Above her, still miles away, I saw her friends, Riley, Maggie, Rigby, Gigi… waiting for her on the edge of a giant white cloud. All were in their prime, happy, tails wagging, smiling in anticipation as they watched Ella Rosebud flying towards them. Sometimes, when I tell people I see something that’s not tangible for them, they think I’m saying I imagine seeing something. Close friends know that what I see is real. It’s comforting to know that all dogs and cats and pets land on special clouds in the sky after their life on earth is over. It’s the purpose of some clouds. And it means the world. By now Ella Rosebud has reached her special cloud. Which one? Look up. It’s the first cloud you see in the sky today.

~Jackie Hirtz   9/2024

Remembering Lily, Maggie, Rigby, Riley, Poppy, Gigi, Coco, Aurie, Happy, Lucky, Lucy, Gus, Jack, Roxie, Sunnyman, Guthrie, Cleveland, Grover, Macy, Basia, Max, Cayenne, Cody…