I haven't posted in a while for a few reasons: we've moved cities, I've started law school, and in a tragic accident, I lost my closest confidante. On August 14th, the day after we moved into our new home, Ella was hit by a car in front of our house. Because all of her injuries were internal, despite best efforts, the vet was not able to save her.
Finn was definitely lost without Ella at first, but he's seemed to make huge steps in his maturation since her death. He started doing things he was always afraid to do, like going down the basement stairs, and he became protective around strangers instead of hanging back. It's as though he knew that his rank in the family had changed. Having him to care for and keep us entertained helped making our loss more bearable, but even then, Ella can never be replaced.
In the days following the accident, I wrote the following "eulogy" for Ella. Having written and delivered the eulogies for two grandparents, and one great-grandmother, I found putting my thoughts on paper to be very theraputic, and I wanted a way to honour her memory, so I share her story with you all.
Warm regards,
Meghan
***
For Ella
She was my second choice, if the truth were known. I wanted to adopt a six year-old male German Short-haired Pointer, but learned that his new family had picked him up only the night before. “We have lots of dogs available,” the woman from the shelter said to me over the phone. “Why don’t you take a look at the ones we have posted, and come by anytime.” Scrolling through the Petfinder listings on the computer and half looking over my shoulder, I asked Armin, “What about a Dobie?” Next to her photo, it said her name was Zena.
As we entered the shelter, the smells and sounds of anxious pets awaiting new homes overwhelmed us both. Though we knew nothing of these dogs or the circumstances that brought them to this place, we knew that we couldn’t, and wouldn’t, leave without one. From behind the swinging door, a woman emerged holding back a highly excited, possibly neurotic, certainly underfed red & tan female Doberman with an uncropped tail that curled up like a monkey’s tail. Her overgrown toenails franticly clawed across the linoleum floor, motivated to get as far away from her kennel as possible and explore her new surroundings. “I don’t know about this one,” Armin muttered to me under his breath, “she’s out of control.” I wasn’t nearly as concerned about this display of bridled energy, for I had known and loved a little nut case named Libby.
“Do you want to take her for a walk?” the woman asked us. “Go ahead,” she gestured and handed Armin the leash. It was one of those cold winter days in January that catches your breath when you first step outside. The sky was clear and blue, and the snow squeaked and crunched beneath our feet. Zena was skittish, and had a look on her face like a racehorse at the gate. It was a mixture of nervousness and excitement that we would later come to recognize as “crazy face”.
For such a skinny dog, boy was she strong. I could barely hang on to her. “What do you think?” Armin kept asking me, but from the moment I saw her, I knew she would be coming home with us. “Let’s do it,” I smiled as I took his hand, and the three of us headed back inside.
After very little effort, we were loading her into the back of the car and making our way to the nearest pet store for all the necessities. Bowls, leash, collar, bed, nail clippers, food, shampoo, and of course, toys. Armin stayed in the truck with her as I made my way through the aisles at a near sprint. The excitement of having a new dog was surpassed only by the reward of having rescued her. I couldn’t wait to show her a brand new world, to make her life so much better, to bring her to the cottage! When I returned to the car, Zena was lying quietly in the back, looking intently at us both with her dark brown eyes. She was undoubtedly sizing us up.
“I don’t know about that name,” I said to Armin, “It’s a little too tough sounding for my liking. She’s not that kind of dog.” My jazz compilation CD just happened to be playing on the car stereo. “What about Ella?” Armin proposed. It sounded feminine and beautiful, just like her. Ella would be the perfect name.
It didn’t take us long to realize how special Ella really was, and conclude that it was in fact Armin and I who were lucky to have found her. We quickly determined that the only thing she needed to learn was her name, and she mastered that in no time at all. She was comical, playful, attentive, incredibly intelligent, sensitive, and affectionate. Nothing about her personality around us seemed consistent with the Doberman stereotype. This dog would live in your lap if you let her, but behind her loving demeanour was a confident, not-to-be-messed-with leader. The first few times I brought her to work with me, she took a nip at a couple people who approached her the wrong way (but later she would have them on their hands and knees doling out massages). She would never actually bite anyone, but she would give fair warning and could intimidate even the self-professed “dog-lovers”. Ella didn’t step down from a challenge, and would put herself between us, and what she perceived to be a threat, without thinking twice about it. One night, when we were still living in our downtown Toronto bachelor, Ella and I were in the back alley for her bedtime routine when out of the shadows we were approached by a homeless person. Ella immediately took control of the situation, and politely escorted the man down the alley, a safe distance away from me, without ever making a sound. Apparently all she had to do to get her point across was stare at her opponent. And she’d seldom pass up the opportunity to remind other dogs just who was in charge when she was around. The dogs she encountered in the park respected her: some would just keep their distance, but most would compete for her attention, and invite her to join in a high-speed game of chase. She carried herself proudly, with her tail up and her head held high. She turned heads wherever she went.
Ella was a natural cuddler, and was smart enough to recognize when she was getting away with being on the couch or bed, so she wouldn’t dare do anything to get herself evicted. She became so skilled at it; she could jump on the bed without us even feeling her land. And once she knew she wasn’t going to hear the word “Off!” she’d delicately position herself between us, nuzzle in, and let out a long and satisfied moan.
She had an internal clock you could set your watch by. When she would accompany me to the office, I always knew when it was quitting time. Come 4:55PM, Ella would start nudging my elbows and let out soft little whines reminding me to wrap it up. She won over all of my coworkers too; some would even leave bags of dog treats at their desk so they’d have something to give her when she made her morning rounds. Some days it was difficult for me to get any work done because of the steady flow of admirers dropping by to say hello (it was quite obvious that my being there was clearly of secondary importance). They would tell me that having Ella around was therapeutic.
Everybody loved Ella. It was common for us to be stopped by total strangers when out for walk, to ask me about her and tell me how beautiful she was. Once I was in a local convenience store with her, and a woman I had never seen before said to me, “Oh, is this Ella?” as she crouched next to her and started scratching her ears. To this day, I have no idea how this woman knew her; for a while Armin and I were convinced Ella had a social life separate from ours, and would sneak out at night while we were sleeping. It wouldn’t have surprised me in the least. One time, Ella and I were having our lunch hour walk in the Financial district, and just as we were about to head back to the office, I heard a woman hollering after us to wait. “Thanks for stopping,” she said, out of breath. “I saw your dog from the 6th floor and I was hoping I’d be able to catch you! “ She went on to ask me what breed of dog Ella was, and remark about how regal she looked. “She has a gait like a thoroughbred horse! “
Ella seemed to have what only can be described as an old soul. She didn’t need one-word commands, Ella understood full sentences, and I talked to her every day. She was a worrier, and extremely in tune with our moods. She could perceive when either of us were upset or having a rough day, and knew exactly what to do, whether it was giving us a gentle lick, resting her head on our lap, or lying quietly at our feet. Ella never left our side. When I first started reading about Dobermans, I came across an article that professed when you live with a Doberman, never again will you have to go the bathroom alone. I had no idea how true that would be. Ella was happiest when she was with her pack, and we never could have anticipated just how much happiness she would bring to our lives.
.
On August 14, 2005, in a tragic accident, Ella’s life was taken from us too soon, leaving a hole that neither Armin nor I are certain can ever be filled again. I am experiencing sadness and grief greater than I ever thought possible. She was a part of my heart, and I loved everything about her. At this moment, the thought of life without her seems somehow incomplete. But what I am coming to accept in the days since her sudden passing, is that the pain we’ve been forced to endure by losing her, is what we must give in return for the joy we experienced because of her. I pray that she left this world knowing that the two people she cared for most in life, loved her more than anyone ever did, or ever would, and that she felt we gave her a wonderful life. I miss her with all my heart, and I know that in time, the sadness will eventually fade and I will be able to think of her fondly once again. I will always be thankful for the lesson of love she has taught me, and am able to find some solace in the thought of Ella welcoming me home again one day.
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