Squishy Tulips: Until we meet again

Yesterday we said goodbye to one of the best and funniest friends I've ever had. Ella just simply couldn't stand up anymore, not even to go potty. The pain pills that the vet prescribed didn't make any difference and over the course of about 48 hours Ella lost the use of her back legs. Robert called the place that Rose went to at the end of her journey, and verified we could be in the room with her. It was the same room where we said goodbye to Rose just over two years ago. Robert said he wouldn't be surprised if Rose waited patiently those two and a half years so she could be there for Ella and give her crap when she passed on.

Ella would have turned 13 today.

I've had some good buddies in my day, both furry and human, but Ella is at the very top of my list. After Rose picked her out - out of dozens of dogs we visited - and carried her by the scruff of her neck to the car (this is the best Ella story), I wasn't sure I trusted Rose's opinion anymore. Ella was a complete jerk from day one. For the first three years of her life I kept trying to convince Robert to find her a new home. She ate about half of my shoes, all the base boards in our last home, and once, an entire box of $50 chocolates.

While I was trying to get rid of her, something magical was happening. I remember trying to keep an eye on her every second she was out of her kennel, in the hopes of salvaging a few of my belongings I'm sure. For example, whenever I did laundry I plopped her in the basket first, dumped the dirty clothes on her and carried her to the basement. She would run around and eat spiders while I washed and folded laundry and when I was done, I would dump her back into the basket with the clean laundry. I carried her around in that damn basket for the first year of her life, and before I knew it, I found myself liking her sometimes. I couldn't help but be amused by her antics, her kiss-my-ass personality. She did as she pleased and enjoyed life to the fullest. It was tough not to be a little jealous of that kind of attitude. Rose came into our lives about as perfect as a dog can be. We were told repeatedly (and still get told repeatedly) that golden retrievers are the best dogs. Well here was this was puppy with the death glares and the horrid behavioral problems who appeared to be proving everyone wrong.

Before I knew it Ella had a hold on me. And perhaps due to my admiration or amusement she became a fan of me as well. She loved all of her admirers. And who knows, she may have had similar opinions of me - "well, here's this loud, obnoxious human who's always yelling at me, but she's kind of funny and hateful some times. I can appreciate that."

I wanted to call her Eloise. And though Robert immediately vetoed that, she was always a bit of an Eloise to me - a proper-sounding name that can turn white trash in the blink of the eye (my apologies to those of you named Eloise). She eventually became Thug Muffin (due to her tough exterior and sometimes, soft interior). She was also Ezzy Bez, Butternut Squash, and a few other cutesy names. One of the names she earned with age and wisdom was White-Faced Ghost Killah. A couple goofy things she did encouraged the rest of her nicknames. Whenever she flopped down, she would find the most unladylike ways to do so - mostly flat on her back, sometimes with only her butt in your face. Then she would give you The Stare. The Come Pet My Belly Stare. Because of this we started calling her a ho, which led to Skanky Doodle Dandy, Hootie and the Ho Fish (90s music has robbed a significant amount of my brain cells), and other unflattering nicknames. Most of the time she wasn't Ella. She was simply Skank.

If you click on this picture you can see that it didn't matter where she was. She made herself comfortable.

I have been immensely impacted by her zest for life. She went after everything with more gusto than one would think possible for a beefy golden retriever. She wasn't graceful in most things, only in the things she was passionate about. She went from Rug of Love (another nickname) to Furry Warrior with a Helicopter Tail whenever a ball was involved. She tore through lakes, creeks, lawns, fields, and swimming pools like the wind coming to life. When she went tearing after a ball I couldn't help it. I wanted my passion for life to be exactly like that. She gave everything she loved 100% and when she was tired she took a break and plopped herself down just exactly the way she wanted to.

She was also my protector. I could be standing on the other side of the house, spot a spider, and before I made so much as a squeak, she would be right there next to me. This became both a little more sad and a little bit funnier as she grew older. The last couple times I spotted a spider I would hear her labored steps as she slowly click-clacked her way across the house to come give that spider some old lady whoop ass. Ella would also magically appear any time I was in tears or near tears. I truly believe she could smell my pain. Though she wasn't one for snuggles, she would come find me, squeeze herself next to me, and thrust her bony old-man elbows into my thighs before settling in. It was as if she thought she could vacuum some of the pain away with her body, and that's exactly how it felt.

She was my shadow, or perhaps more accurately, I was hers. I followed her around like the sun and the moon and the earth and all the planets revolved around her.

Even as she got older, she stayed true to who she was. Once a jerk face, always a jerk face. In the mornings she would wait until I was settled in and eating breakfast before making her way out of the bedroom, ready for her morning routine. She would even give me a look like, "are you comfy yet?" Because I often had breakfast on our couch I figured out how she knew I was just getting settled in and decided to be sneaky. Before I sat down for breakfast I would hit the button for the foot rest, which makes a creaking sound. She would come stumbling out of the bedroom thinking I had settled in with my breakfast and shoot me the dirtiest look like, "You butthead. You tricked me." We had constant wars like this with each other and I doubt I'll meet another creature or person who delights in it as much as she did.

While she was passing on I wanted to tell her that where she was going was better, that she would get everything her ornery little heart desired, and that she wouldn't be in pain anymore. But I struggled to tell her all this because I'm selfish - once a jerk face, always a jerk face. I still have years of things I want to say to her, years of romping through the woods, and throwing balls caked with slime into swamps filled with slime, years of long walks and ice-cream runs. So I decided to give her an impossible task, one I'm sure she will give 100%. I told her I wanted her to live in doggy paradise. I told her I wanted her to come back and live many more happy lives and bring happiness to as many people and creatures as possible. And most selfishly, I asked her to wait for me.

Here are a few of my favorite Ella pictures:

Rose teaching Ella how to swim: