Six Pounds of Love

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone
- Joni Mitchell, “Big Yellow Taxi”

I first met her in the summer of 2020.  She was the happiest blonde I’d ever known.  She came into my life because she needed to leave her foster home.

We became fast friends.  So much so that when I would arrive home, she would stop what she was doing and rush to greet me.

She was Bella, Tracie’s Morkie, half Yorkshire Terrier and half Maltese, and the nicest, best doggie I’ve ever known.  I never heard her growl, let alone bare her teeth.  In fact, she hardly ever barked.  She was just a happy little soul.

Bella was smart and well trained.  She didn’t do tricks; she was too dignified for such frivolity.  But when you said “stay” or “come” she obeyed immediately.

Bella had a bobbed tail and that little tail never stopped wagging.  Tracie often joked that one day that furiously wagging little tail would act like a propeller and Bella would buzz around the room.  I think one time it nearly happened.

She loved me and I loved her.

Bella was 14 years old and recently lost the use of one of her rear legs.  She adapted well and hopped everywhere.  But lately she became incontinent and we knew she wasn’t happy and felt she was in pain.

As hard as it was, last week Tracie and I sent Bella to the Rainbow Bridge.

My heart is heavy; last week I lost a true friend.