Spirit Matters: Saying goodbye to a furry angel

On March 20, my brother had his dog, Millie, put to rest.

I am certain it was one of the hardest things he ever had to do.

He adopted Millie from Pet Project in Marseilles in December 2010.

Or, rather, she adopted him.

She wrapped herself around his heart so that nothing was too good for her. He was very mindful of making sure she had the best nutrition, the best medical care … the best life a dog could have.

But Millie not only adopted my brother, she adopted me, as well.

I have photos of the first time I met her. They are captioned simply: “I am in love.”

Millie was a yellow Labrador mix, with the sweetest, most sensitive disposition I have ever seen in an animal.

She and I shared a soul bond, and I believe with my entire heart that her appearance in our lives was not at all a random luck of the draw.

My brother worked shift work, so he brought her over often for me to care for while he was gone.

Millie suffered from high anxiety, and this manifested in many ways, particularly panting, pacing and sensitive digestion. It was sometimes challenging to care for her, as she often left piles of puke or other things to clean up.

In the early days, she sat at the window in the guest room for hours and watched for my brother to come home from work.

When she wasn’t planted at the window, she walked back and forth from there to the landing at the top of the stairs at the back door.

And when my brother’s car pulled into the driveway, she greeted him excitedly at the door and ran to the car.

It wasn’t long before Millie began to warm up to me.

When I had a hard day at work and went directly to my bedroom when I got home, she followed me and stayed next to me.

When my brother worked at night, she slept with me, and seemed to know intuitively when there would be bunnies outside in the middle of the night to catch. She panted and paced until I had no choice but to let her out. She was like lightning when it came to seeing and catching one, much to my dismay.

Although dogs cannot communicate verbally, she comforted me many times in nonverbal ways. She understood me when few people in my life did. Millie’s deep, soulful eyes spoke volumes and healed me on many levels.

When my brother wasn’t around, Millie stayed glued to me and followed me everywhere I went. Sometimes, when my brother and I were both around, she would sit by me instead of him. I often teased him that she liked me better than she liked him. Still, when it was time to go home, she always ran excitedly to the car with her male “person.”

When my brother got married in 2017, Millie’s visits got fewer and farther between. But I made sure to visit her regularly and spend quality time with her.

On Sunday, March 19, my brother called me and told me if I wanted to say goodbye to her that I had better come over.

She had been declining for a while, and he said that in looking at her, he knew it was time.

We had both been dreading this moment for her entire life. We weren’t new to having to say goodbye to a beloved pet, and it’s one of the reasons I have watched “Marley and Me” once – and only once.

But this was going to be different.

This was Millie.

I was getting married the following Saturday, March 25, so I had just a few other things on my mind.

I went over and calmly got on the floor to pet her. She looked at me with the same beautiful eyes she always had.

Anyone who claims animals don’t have souls has never known or loved an animal like Millie.

The next morning, my brother and his wife took Millie for her final visit to the veterinarian’s office. They said their goodbyes and returned to their home without her.

I sat on the couch at home and looked at photos and videos I had taken of her over the years. In one short video, she was sitting across from me on the love seat, gazing at me. It was dark – I think it was early morning.

I could hear myself in the background repeating softly and gently, “I love you, baby girl.” (That’s one of her nicknames). “I’m always going to love you.”

She responded by gently licking her mouth.

As it turns out, I didn’t have the opportunity to fully absorb or grieve saying goodbye to Millie five days before I got married.

It was probably a good thing. If my wedding hadn’t been that week, I would have been nonfunctional for some time.

Earlier this week, it occurred to me that I was ready to write about her, seven months to the day after she left us. I am certain Millie came into my life to heal my heart, and, having achieved the end for which she was sent, departed at the appointed time.

Rest in peace, Pumpkin.

I’m always going to love you.

SPIRIT MATTERS is a weekly column that examines experiences common to the human spirit. Contact Jerrilyn Zavada Novak at jzblue33@yahoo.com to share how you engage your spirit in your life and community.