Chelsea’s Legacy

Every once in a while, if you’re very very lucky, and very very blessed, an angel comes into your life disguised as a dog, and changes everything! Dogs are wonderful creatures to begin with, and we could learn so much from them about unconditional love, about enjoying life as you live it and appreciating each moment as you are in it… Then there are the extra special ones, the heart dogs, the angels in disguise. These dogs arrive in ways you never expect and your life is forever changed because they were in it. Chelsea was one of those dogs.

Nick wasn’t keen on dogs. He’d been pretty much afraid of them his whole life, but my dogs back home had kind of won him over, and he accepted that if he married me there would be dogs in our lives. When we married I moved from Ontario to Britain so he could finish medical school and we could figure out which continent we were meant to live on. For 3 years I was completely dogless for the first time in my life. Sure I hadn’t had dogs with me at university, but my family dogs were still there at home waiting for me on each trip back. Moving to a strange country with a husband who worked odd hours and only a few new friends, where everything was different – well it was lonely, and without a 4 legged family member that just made it worse. Once we knew we were staying for the foreseeable future Nick decided that he would get me a dog.

Famous last words those were, him getting a dog for ‘me’. Our landlord approved our having a dog so we looked around for a dachshund breeder (the breed I’d grown up with), but no one close was breeding in the near future. We called a few rescues and everything was big and/or fluffy. Finally we found a Rescue who had a smooth female pup who they thought wouldn’t grow too big – probably a medium size. After a couple of false starts and almost not going to see her eventually we did, and there was this beautiful golden bundle of love. I picked her up, and she told me her name, then she looked in Nick’s eyes and dove straight into his heart. I thought Nick and I fell in love pretty quick, but that was nothing compared to this. He took her in his arms and it was love at first sight. Within seconds Nick was a ‘dog person’. He didn’t care that she threw up all over him on the way home, and the bed on the floor lasted about 30 seconds before he decided she ‘looks so lonely down there’ and she was in the bed. For a week he slept on 1 inch of bed for fear of crushing or smothering her. That stopped the morning she did what we later called the ‘whippet stretch’ and pushed him out of bed. After that he figured she could fight her corner if he rolled on her. Chelsea taught Nick he was a dog person.

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We got Chelsea around the time of the Ty Beanie Baby craze. We got hooked. Chelsea became Chelsea Bear because of the beanie babies. Nick sent me a cute email one day to say he’d found the very rare Chelsea Bear. It was gold and had a tush tag and not just one but TWO hang tags (if you ever were into the beanie craze you’ll understand that). From that moment on she was Chelsea Bear.

Image Nick, Chelsea and I travelled all over Scotland hunting beanie babies. Chelsea was still car-sick, but she loved going places with us. One of us would go in the store while the other would stay outside with her. If I went in she would happily wait with Daddy and it was no big deal. If Nick went in then the world was over, she would shout and carry on and tell everyone who would listen how terrible it was that Daddy left and that they must go get him immediately. Yeah right he bought ‘me’ a dog LOL. Many of those beanie hunts ended with the three of us eating takeout in a park or sitting at an outdoor table at a restaurant (even sometimes in the freezing cold) enjoying dinner. Her whole life (especially after she got over her car sickness) Chelsea loved nothing more than ‘coming with’. She loved to travel and just to be with us. She taught us that the best times were ‘family times’.

Chelsea was an empath, a healer, she knew how you were feeling, and what you needed to feel better. She knew how to make you feel you were the centre of her universe, because for the time you were with her there was no one but her and you. It didn’t matter if you’d only just met her a second ago, or if you were one of her favourite Aunties that she visited. She loved life. She had a rough start – she went through 3 homes before she was 10 weeks old. Every time she’d been in a car she’d been left somewhere. She was isolated at the rescue because she was full of worms. We could have had a nightmare with her, and instead all she wanted to do was love you and be loved. She couldn’t stand the thought that a person or dog didn’t like her. If someone didn’t want to know it only made her try harder. She taught true, enduring, unconditional love and acceptance.

Chelsea sniffed the flowers! She would be desperate to go out and potty, she’d dance on the plastic doormat back and forth and tell us how desperate she was, and we’d leash her up and take her to her patch of garden out the front, and she’d walk in and see a new flower and have to sniff it. We’d remind her to go potty and she’d start to look for a spot, then see another new flower and have to sniff it. This would happen over and over till she had sniffed every single flower that she wanted to.She taught us that we should enjoy life and take time to sniff the flowers even if there were urgent matters that needed attending.

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Chelsea was a whippet. Okay, she wasn’t, but she was convinced she was. We knew she was a mix, we knew she had terrier in her, and as she grew more and more people commented on our ‘whippet’ or ‘whippet mix’. As we researched whippets we recognised so many traits, so we assumed that she must also be part whippet or lurcher. She may not have been, but we believed that she was a whippet mix, and she ‘knew’ she was all whippet. She had the ‘sighthound recognition’ in that she went crazy when meeting other ‘smooth & pointies’. She loved all breeds, but would turn herself inside out to try to meet another whippet or greyhound or other sighthound variety. So and because of Chelsea we explored the whippet breed and fell in love, and when she was 3 and we moved down south we collected our first whippet puppy Savannah. Chelsea taught us we were whippet people.

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We worried in the weeks leading up to getting Savannah if we could possibly love her as much as we loved Chelsea. Chelsea was our special girl. She’d been our only girl for so long, how could we possibly love another dog that much. When we picked up Savannah we knew at once she was the dog we were supposed to have, and within a few short days it was like she’d always been with us. Chelsea taught us that it doesn’t matter if you think you love one person/dog/thing so much your heart will burst, your heart will always grow as much as is needed to be able to love others as much.

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Because Chelsea led us to Savannah we began showing. We met some amazing people, and while we started showing because we wanted to please Savannah’s breeder, we stayed in showing because of the friends we made. As the internet grew and expanded we joined whippet email lists, then boards, then I became a manager or moderator of a couple of boards. We made whippet friends around the world. Not just acquaintances, but real true friends some of whom we would meet in person eventually, and some of whom we will only know ‘online’, but they are real friends nonetheless. Most of the friends we have now, in real life or over the internet we met because of the journey we started when Chelsea arrived in our lives. Chelsea introduced us to many of our closest friends.

As well as breed shows we did a lot of companion shows where not only were there pedigree classes, but there were novelty classes as well for anyone. Chelsea LOVED to show. I wish the whippets had even a portion of her show attitude. When she crossed the entryway into the ring she turned herself on. Everyone was there to look at her. If there was applause it was for her. She preened and strutted and showed herself off, and wagged. She wagged and wagged because she was the centre of attention. More often than not Chelsea would win the waggiest tail class (or as we nicknamed it the ‘barkingest dog’ class as when she was happy she would bark as well as wag). Chelsea taught us we should embrace life and shout our happiness to the world.

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We expanded our whippet family to include Teya, then we bred Teya and kept Drama, and finally we bred Drama and kept Emmy and Kendra. Chelsea wasn’t entirely sure about having a ‘sister’ when Savannah arrived, but eventually they bonded and became inseperable. When Teya arrived Chelsea acted like all her birthdays had come at once. She ADORED her new baby sister, and they became fast friends. When Teya had her babies, Chelsea was the best Auntie in the world and would spend hours watching the puppies through the dog gate when they were tiny and, once Teya allowed her, Chelsea would play, and let them crawl all over her, and would corral them when they wandered too far. She taught them manners, she taught them the ‘Bear Baiting’ game. And when Drama had her babies Chelsea wanted nothing more than to be the best Auntie to them as well. She helped raise every pup who came into or was born into this house. She changed us from a ‘one or two dog family’ to a SIX dog family!! We were never having more than two dogs, we were never breeding, we were never keeping more than one puppy, we were never travelling outside the country with our dogs (we took Drama to Sweden to breed). Chelsea taught us ‘Never say Never’.

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When we moved from a small flat in Scotland to a 3 bedroom house with garden (yard for the North Americans) Chelsea went from watching the world go by from the front window to watching it go by out in the garden. She would spend hours patrolling the fence line, sniffing the air, watching the birds (shouting at them if they flew in her airspace). Chelsea loved her garden, she loved the sun, she loved to just relax and watch the world go by, and occasionally bark to remind the world that she was there too. She taught us about finding peace and rest in a world that often tries to zoom by so fast.

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Chelsea was afraid of fireworks, and thunder and loudly buzzing insects. Every year during ‘fireworks season’ we would rush to be home before dark and do all the right things, but she would be trembling and shaking and the fear just increased over the years. We found a wonderful safe prescription that helped and made a huge difference in her life. But during the times she was most scared she would come to me for comfort. She adored her Daddy, he was the centre of her universe, but when she was scared and needed security and safety she would come to me. She taught us about loving equally, but differently.

When she was almost 7 she had a bowel obstruction from something she ate. We almost lost her then, but she had a fighting spirit. The vets were amazed at her recovery. Over the years she had a fair few lumps and bumps removed, she always bounced back from surgery. She was a ‘houdini dog’ when it came to taking out her staples or removing bandages. We were generally able to cover the spots with a jacket or jammies to keep her from working on them, but one year we had a lump removed from her ‘behind’. We thought there was no way she could reach that one. I watched her like a hawk, turned my back for 10 seconds and I heard ‘snap’, and a staple was out. Brought her back to the vet for a re-staple, and put a special collar on her. Not the horrible cone, but one called a ‘bite not’ which looks like a whiplash collar. Surely she shouldn’t be able to get to it now. That lasted 3 days and then in another quick flash she figured out just the right way to turn and I heard ‘snap’ and there was the wound open again. This happened two more times. Eventually that wound did heal up and we didn’t have to resort to the cone, however on a later surgery we did finally have to give in and use the cone of shame on her for which I’m not sure she ever forgave us. Chelsea taught us perseverance pays off (and that staples do NOT belong in one’s butt!).

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As she got older she grew a bit grey in the face, and her eyes sunk a bit as dogs’ eyes do with age, but in her head she was still 3 or 5. When she was 10 the vets could have sworn she was 6, when she was 13 they said they wouldn’t have put her at 10 yet. In the last couple of years she had a bit of muscle wastage in her back end, and she lost much of her hearing and she did start to look ‘old’. I think it was the hearing loss that aged her most as she spent more time in her own head. She no longer always greeted us at the door, but when she looked up and saw we’d come home her eyes would light up and she’d tell us how much she loved us and was glad we were home. She taught us you’re only as old as you feel, and if you feel like doing a zoomie round the garden at 14 years old, then why the heck shouldn’t you (even if it does scare the life out of your mum and dad).

Of all the lessons she taught us here’s the one I so wish I could follow, but the one that’s the hardest: Love every minute you have while you are in it.

I have never met anyone, person or dog, who just appreciates and lives so completely in the moment and loves every moment as much as Chelsea does. I know dogs live in the moment, but even with all the others in the house, none of them do it to the extent that Chelsea does. She drinks it in, inhales and sniffs and appreciates, like a fine wine, and then she shouts and tells the world that she is there and has arrived and everyone should be so lucky as her. WrooWrooWrooWrooWroo! I have to admit I suck at taking her advice.

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In April of last year she grew an odd lump. She had been developing fatty cysts for years, but this was different. The vet wasn’t worried, but thought it worth taking off, and the pathology came back as a Mast Cell Tumour. That scared the life out of us. A couple of weeks later another popped up, then a third. We operated on the 2nd, but after that we felt that we didn’t want to keep operating even though at 13 she was bouncing back well. When the third showed up we couldn’t cope with the idea of cancer on our beloved girl, so we opted to go for a ‘punch biopsy’ under sedation. It was one of these that caused us to use the ‘cone of shame’.

Not knowing her true background, or any history, we had no idea what kind of life span to expect for her. We hoped to make it to at least 13, we expected probably 16 the way she was in her head. On the other hand several times a week I would find her at the end of the bed and wrap my arms around her and tell her ‘don’t leave me yet’. As we approached each year I hoped for just one more. And she was so happy and healthy and young at heart…

She didn’t develop any further Mast Cell Tumours and I breathed a sigh of relief and she had a great 14th birthday. She played with Drama’s pups, though not quite as enthusiastically as she had with Teya’s. We noticed she was definitely slowing down and starting to sometimes separate herself. We thought it was age and deafness, and wanting to keep out of the way of the rowdy youngsters who weren’t always so careful in the midst of play and could knock her. In July of this year she came up lame on one leg. The vet and the chiropractor checked it and couldn’t find anything serious. We all assumed it was a bit of age and perhaps a knock from the pups. We rested her and gave her pain meds, and she was happy. Sometimes favouring it, other times fine. We got to August, and as her birthday’s in November it never occurred to us in a million years that she wouldn’t make 15. We knew that perhaps 16 was a stretch, though we could hope, but when you get just a couple of months away from a birthday and she’s that happy and healthy, and still young in her head you don’t really believe that she won’t get there. I lost a friend back home to Ovarian Cancer the first week of August (the fourth friend to lose their battle with the horrible, evil C word in as many years), and Chelsea was there as always to sit with me and love on me and tell me it was ok and that she would make me feel better.

On August 22nd the bottom fell out of my world – out of our world as we knew it. I know she’s a dog and not a spouse or a child, but she was Chelsea Bear. She was our heart dog. The day before she had come up lame again, and was in serious pain. This was a dog who NEVER showed pain, so to see her so distressed was hearbreaking. We took her straight to the vet who looked at it and thought it might be a crutiate injury but went through a list of possibilities with us, the bottom of his list was cancer. We booked in for an x-ray and hoped and believed it would be something we could ‘fix’, even if it was just for a few more months. She was happy and healthy in every other way. I left her that morning for her x-ray and went to sleep for a couple of hours since I’d been awake most of the night listening for her. I answered the phone to hear the words, ‘it’s not good news, it’s bone cancer’, and I couldn’t breathe. I could barely get the words out to Nick when I called him. I went to pick her up and looked at the x-ray (which I brought home for Nick to look at later) and took home pain meds, and we agreed that we would manage the pain as she was too old to honestly consider amputation no matter how well she has handled surgery in the past. I put the news on Whippet World, and on Facebook, and all those whippet friends that Chelsea brought into our lives (as well as non-whippet friends) were there for us. Over the years many of them hadn’t just become our friends, but they had come to love Chelsea as one of their own. Her spirit, her love of life, her eyes, her stories, she touched lives around the world. And while Nick and I were going through this most devastating thing, all of those people who’s lives Chelsea touched were there! We had emails and facebook messages, even ones from people we didn’t know at all because they were so touched by her story and our pain. We got wonderful advice on a pain management regimen which our vet put her on and she responded really well. She was able to walk on 4 legs again which we hadn’t expected. We now had hope that we would have a few more weeks with her. We had planned an ‘oldies’ trip to France for late September. We had got their passports all sorted earlier in the year after the new rules came in, and had been planning for months to take Chelsea and Savannah on one last ‘hurrah’. We hoped with her positive response to the pain meds that we might still make that trip. In the meantime we were doing all of her favourite things, feeding her favourite foods, visiting her favourite people. Spoiling her absolutely rotten and making the most of the time we had left however long it was.

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Two weeks after her diagnosis Chelsea tried to jump on the bed. We had been stopping her and lifting her, but sometimes she got ahead of us. I heard a pop, and thought she knocked her knee on the gate. She screamed and my heart broke. We increased her pain medication and I spent a sleepless night watching her in pain and we prepared ourselves to let her go the next morning. She seemed less pained the next morning, and the vet examined the leg thoroughly and said it felt stable. He thought we should give her 24-48 hours before making rash decisions. She was coping well on 3 legs, so he felt it only fair to give her a chance. The next couple of days went relatively well, and we continued to take it day by day. I took a step back and remembered that much of what I was worrying over were things she was doing before she was sick (pacing, wandering, etc), and I needed to separate out what was ‘cancer’ from what was ‘old dog stuff’. Once I wrapped my mind round that the vet and us felt that she might have a couple more weeks yet, but just to be safe I asked for another x-ray.

So a week after her setback and 3 weeks from her diagnosis we took an x-ray just to see the progression and get an idea of how much longer we might have. And there we had the second piece unexpected devastating news… There was actually a fracture. The pop we heard wasn’t her hitting her knee, it was the bone fracturing. The lucky part was that it was in a place where it was holding stable. The unlucky part was the fact that it was still a fracture, and at some point it would fracture again and she would be in unbearable pain. So we had to make a decision. We had an otherwise happy, healthy dog. Yes, bone cancer is bad and spreads everywhere, so it was still talking a matter of weeks, but in her head she was happy, just sore. Do we take a risk and amputate so she can be pain free and enjoy a few more weeks (and we could have a few more weeks), or do we let her go before she thinks she’s ready.

Everyone says that your dog will tell you when it’s time. But they don’t always. They can’t always. Some, like Chelsea, just love life so much, and they live in the moment so much that they’re never going to be ready. If she looked at us and it was clear that she wanted to go, that the pain was too much I wouldn’t hesitate for a second. But she wasn’t. She was close the night of the setback, and I was ready that night, but she rallied. So what to do? Nick was adamant that we were not amputating, and in the back of my mind I knew that was right, but I just couldn’t reconcile myself to making the decision before she – Chelsea – was ready. We made the most difficult decision of our lives…

This was a Tuesday. Nick wanted to be home when we let her go. We asked the vet if he thought she would make it till Friday afternoon safely. If so then Nick could be there, if not then I would do it alone. The vet felt she would be okay so we booked the appointment to let her go at home on Friday afternoon. We spent the next two days cramming in as much as we safely could of what was left of her favourite things. We took her and Savannah to dinner at the local pub,

15 we fed her ice cream at the beach. On Thursday I took her to a local park to watch the seagulls and the swans. She was happy watching, and being there, but I could see behind her eyes that she was getting tired. She wasn’t telling me she was ready to go, but in her way she was telling me it was ok to let her go. That she understood.

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Friday morning the 14th of September I stayed in bed and had Bear Time for the last time. Over the years Chelsea would curl up in the arms of one or the other of us and we called it Bear Time. She would sleep at the bottom of the bed, but if we asked for Bear Time, she would come and curl up and tuck her head under our chin or mash her head against our cheek (sometimes bruising mine!) and just snuggle in hard. I put a photo on Facebook and Whippet World and said that now all times like that in our home with any of the dogs would be called Bear Time, and was met with responses that many of our friends were having ‘Bear Time’ with their dogs now too. We were so touched by that, and just blown away by the support and understanding from so many corners of the world and from so many unexpected places and people…

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Nick came home at lunch for the afternoon, and curled up with Chelsea. We took turns cuddling and telling her we loved her and saying good-bye, but looking back it still wasn’t enough. Not for me anyway. And in her head, though she was tired and sore, she wasn’t ready, and while I know it was right, it still breaks my heart. We took her for a short walk (she had been begging for a walk for days but we had been too scared of more damage) down the road to the big patch of grass before the heath.  She pulled and tried to run on three legs, and sniffed everything in sight and was our wonderful, beautiful waggy, happy Bear.  

The vet arrived at 3:30, and we shut Chelsea in her safe zone (the former puppy pen that we had set up to keep her safe) while the others greeted the vet and nurse, then we brought the others in and let Chelsea out. Chelsea took one look at the vet and wanted nothing to do with him. She walked straight past him and started doing her usual tour of the perimeter. She walked a few paces on three legs, stopped and sniffed, Nick went to get her and she jumped out of his way, continuing her tour. She was determined to finish one last round. When she reached the end she jumped out of Nick’s way again and went to the door to go in the house. She broke my heart. Nick picked her up and carried her to me and we laid her in my lap on the blanket in her favourite spot in the middle of the garden. The day was sunny and warm and beautiful. She didn’t want the vet to touch her, but she laid there with me stroking her, and Nick a step away with her eyes locked on his. She went peacefully, one deep breath and gone. She left our lives the same way she entered, in my arms while looking into her daddy’s eyes.

It was hard to believe she was gone. The light never left her eyes. I’ve had to let a dog go before, and I knew when she was gone by her eyes, but not Chelsea. Chelsea’s eyes still had the light in them that was there her whole life. That light that said she was special and you were special and you’d be special together. The light that said she knew a secret and if you listened she’d teach you and share it with you. The light that said no matter how bad it got or how sad you were, there wasn’t anything so sad or too bad that she couldn’t make better with her special healing powers.

The vets left, and we let the other dogs out. They all rushed over and stopped and sniffed. Savannah decided at once that she didn’t want to know and walked away. She came back once more to double check, then went back in the house. The other 4 ran a few times round the garden and kept coming back to pay their respects then ran off again. We bundled Chelsea on the tartan blanket carefully into a plastic pet bed, then I tucked another blanket around her and pulled her paw out over it like she used to do, just like she was sleeping. We had almost an hour’s drive ahead of us to take her to the Pet Undertakers/Funeral Home who were going to care for her for us, so we had to get a few things done, and I had to post on the board and Facebook that she was gone. We left her in her bed on the deck just outside the door, and while I was typing the message Nick was clearing up. He saw the puppies go up to the bed and saw Kendra step in. As he went to correct her he saw what they were doing. The puppies had gone to the bed together, Kendra had a puppy nylabone in her mouth, and the reason she was stepping into the bed was so she could place it in with Chelsea on her paw. If we hadn’t seen it ourselves we wouldn’t believe it. The puppies were honouring their Auntie Bear!

The drive was a blur. Chels was in her bed on the front seat. She got one last car ride up front. For most of her life she was either seat-belted or crated in the car. In the days before we had space for a crate she was seat-belted, and when we were going somewhere or on our way home, on the last stretch we would often ‘cheat’ and Nick would undo her seatbelt and let her sit up front on his lap for a treat. She loved it.

Alan from Pet Undertakers Ltd was wonderful. They have a small viewing room, and they took Chelsea in just as we had her. We chatted about what we wanted him to do (we needed to keep some ash back to make some memorial keepsakes and for scattering), and then he left us with her and told us to take as long as we needed. We cried a bit and stroked her, then I pulled out my iPhone (technology can be a wonderful thing) and I read out loud the condolences that had come in from Facebook and Whippet World. The words of our friends from all over the world were so helpful and comforting in those moments and reading them to each other with Chelsea there was just right. Thank you to our dear dear friends. We couldn’t have made it through without you.

Chelsea’s ashes were returned to us in just 2 days. He brought them home to us so we didn’t have to go pick them up. He kept aside some ashes to send to make a memorial paperweight that we wanted, and he put some into a heart charm that we are hanging on the rearview mirror in the car so that from this point forward Chelsea will always ‘come with’ and always be up front.

We did make the trip to France, but we took Savannah and Teya (the two current oldies) with us. We also took some of Chelsea’s ashes along with her collar and her pet passport. On our way to France, just before getting to the EuroTunnel we saw the most beautiful rainbow.

18 On the day we went scouting for the best beach to scatter some of her ashes again we saw an amazing rainbow. Her way of telling us where she wanted to be let go.

19 On the day before we left France we went back to that beach. We had bought some flowers (roses and others), pulled some petals off and spread the ashes over them, then we took them to the beach for the wind to catch and scatter. As we walked back in from the beach one of the rose petals was skipping ahead of us, just out of reach, just like Chelsea would have. It stopped right next to a complete mussel shell that was lying open, empty gleaming in the sunlight – the open shape looking just like a heart. We brought it home as her final gift to us.

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I picked up Chelsea’s memorial paperweight this morning. Today would have been – SHOULD have been – her 15th birthday. I knew losing her would be hard, but I thought it would be harder on Nick than me because she was his first dog and I’ve had and lost dogs before. Not so. I’m shocked at the depth of the grief I’ve been feeling over her loss. For the first few days there were moments that felt like hours where I couldn’t breathe. It was like claustrophobia. Like being in a nightmare you can’t get out of. The thought of never seeing her again, never holding her or stroking her or snuggling her or getting my cheek mashed or shouting at her to stop barking, that I would never see that face ever ever again – it was just unbearable. It IS just unbearable. It will be 8 weeks tomorrow that she left us, and while it has eased some, it’s still just wrong. Our wonderful friends have helped us through. Getting through today will be a big milestone, and hopefully I can start moving forward again. I miss her so much. Don’t get me wrong, I love my other girls, but as Chelsea taught us – equal but different. I know she would be disappointed I’m so sad and not ‘living every moment while I’m in it’, but it’s so incredibly hard.

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But here’s the thing… while I wish with all my heart that she was still here, and I wish I / we had never had to make that horrible decision to let her go so soon, I wouldn’t give up a single second of the time we had together. As painful as it is not to have her here, and as painful as the thought of a world without her in it is, I can’t imagine a world where she was never in it. She taught us so much, she changed our lives completely. So much of who we are, who we have become and most of the friends we have today are because of that special little dog (that angel disguised as a dog) that God was so gracious to give us. And for that I am eternally grateful.

Chelsea Bear 8th Nov 1997 - 14th Sept 2012

Chelsea Bear 'of Chelynnah' Our little empath dog who lived and loved without inhibition who never met a stranger who always stopped to sniff the flowers

You will always be our 'heart' Bear

22 Wendy Jones 8th November 2012  

All Photos © Copyright Chelynnah Whippets and/or their respective photographers and may not be used without permission

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