There are moments in life when time divides itself.
Before.
And after.
Monday morning started like any other…
Ogden wasn’t quite himself. His breathing was more laboured than usual, so I’d already booked him into the vet for 11 o’clock.
Then everything changed.
He lay down. His breathing became harder. His tongue looked pale.
Michael and I looked at each other, scooped him up into the truck, and drove.
Fast.
I climbed into the back seat with him, cradling his head, talking to him the whole way.
“It’s okay, Oggy…”
“I’m here…”
“I’ve got you…”
Somewhere deep inside, I knew.
I kept asking him not to leave me.
As if love could somehow persuade death to wait.
Just before he died, he lifted his head one last time and rested it on my lap.
Then he was gone. Peacefully.
Before we even reached the vet.
I’ve replayed that morning over and over these last few days. I couldn’t have loved this boy any more than I did – it was pure unconditional love. I’ve spent hours trying to work out if I missed something.
- What if I’d noticed sooner?
- What if I’d taken him to the vet the day before?
- What if we’d left five minutes earlier?
What if…
I’ve gone over every detail, trying to find the moment where I somehow let him down. Because if I can find that moment… maybe this will make sense. But grief doesn’t work like that.
The truth is, I did notice.
I’d already booked his appointment because I knew something wasn’t right.
The moment his breathing changed, we didn’t hesitate.
We picked him up and left.
Could something have been different?
I honestly don’t know.
I’ll probably ask myself that question many more times.
Maybe that’s just part of loving someone this deeply.
But when I strip away all the second-guessing, one thing remains.
- He wasn’t alone.
- He knew I was there.
- He heard my voice.
And he left this world with his head resting on my lap.
If I could have chosen anything for his final moments…
It would have been exactly that.
There is one thing I hope you knew, Oggy Doggy…
I hope you knew how deeply you were loved.
I hope you knew that every decision we made that morning came from love.
I hope you knew I wasn’t trying to let you go. I was trying to get you somewhere safe.
I hope you heard my voice.
I hope, in those last few minutes, you knew you didn’t have to be brave on your own.
And I hope you knew that having your head resting on my lap felt like the greatest privilege of my life.
Since Monday, I’ve found myself bargaining with life.
Just…
- One more hike.
- One more breakfast coffee together on the deck.
- One more happy-faced, waggy-tailed ‘I love my Mommy’ greeting when I walked through the door.
- One more conversation where you listened intently with that happy face, your head on one side and wagging tail.
- One more hug (I realized this week… I hugged him ALL the time.).
- One more ordinary day.
- One more ordinary moment.
Because it turns out those ordinary moments were never ordinary at all.
Death is so brutally final.
That evening I shared the news on Facebook. Michael had already posted, so a few people already knew. What I wasn’t prepared for was the incredible outpouring of love…
Hundreds of messages.
Stories.
Photos.
People sharing what Ogden had meant to them.
Even his foster mum wrote the most beautiful tribute to him.
I cried all over again, because they saw what I saw.
- His gentleness.
- His kindness.
- His quiet wisdom.
- His enormous heart.
- He wasn’t just my dog.
- He left paw prints on so many lives.
The house feels impossibly quiet now.
I still catch myself looking behind me, expecting him to be there.
Following me from room to room.
Waiting patiently for a ‘bone’ with his head on my lap.
Watching me work.
Curled up beside me.
He’s not.
And every time I remember…
It hurts all over again.
People sometimes say, “He was just a dog.”
Anyone who has loved an animal knows that’s impossible.
Ogden wasn’t just my dog.
- He was my shadow.
- My coffee buddy.
- My hiking companion.
- My emotional support fella.
- My cuddle buddy.
- My guardian.
- My protector.
- My rock.
- My best friend.
When Hurricane Helene washed away our home, he never once questioned where we were going. Six different homes in six months.
He simply came with us.
As long as we were together, he was home. He was with his Mommy.
Somehow, he helped me believe I would be too.
Ogden taught me more than I can probably ever put into words.
- He taught me presence.
- He taught me loyalty.
- He taught me joy.
- He taught me resilience.
- He made me laugh every single day.
Whenever I was anxious, worried, or sad, he somehow knew.
He’d simply come and lean against me or rest his head on my lap until everything felt a little more manageable.
He reminded me to stop working and go outside.
To notice the breeze.
To sniff the air (he was an excellent sniffer dog!)
To take the walk.
To be fully present where I was.
And perhaps one lesson above all the others…
He taught me how to shake things off.
Years ago, I wrote a blog post after watching him literally shake from nose to tail when something startled him.
Then he’d carry on. he quickly shook it off.
No story.
No resentment.
No holding on.
Just…
I’ve thought about that a lot this week.
Some things aren’t meant to be shaken off.
Some losses become part of us.
A dear friend said something to me this week that has stayed with me.
“How lucky you were to have each other.”
She’s right.
Eleven years and seven months was never going to feel long enough.
It never could.
Love doesn’t work like that.
No matter how many years we’re given…
When the end comes, we’ll always wish for one more walk.
One more coffee on the deck.
One more hug.
One more wagging tail.
One more time.
Ogden…
For every hike.
Every cuddle.
Every muddy paw print.
Every laugh.
Every time we connected deeply into each other’s eyes.
For carrying me through some of the hardest years of my life.
For helping me find my feet again after we lost our home.
You never cared where we lived.
As long as we were together, you were home.
Somehow, you helped me believe I would be too.
For reminding me, every single day, what unconditional love looks like.
I don’t know where love goes when someone dies.
I only know it doesn’t disappear.
Because somehow this house feels emptier…
…and my heart feels fuller because I got to love you.
You made my world infinitely better simply by being in it.
I’d give anything for one more ordinary morning.
One more walkies.
One more hug.
One more coffee on the deck.
One more time.
But then I realize…
For eleven years and seven months, I was given thousands of “one more times.”
I just didn’t know they were gifts while I was living them.
I miss you so much already, my beautiful boy.
Thank you, Oggy.
❤️
Sending you lots of love, what a special boy Ogden was, he was lucky to have you and Michael, you can see how loved he was.
Thanks so much, Beverley. He was truly a special boy.
So beautiful and eloquent Elaine, and all so true. That love, and all those memories will always be with you ❤️
Aww! Thank you, Kathryn. I wish you could have met him. Oliver would have LOVED him!
What a beautiful love letter. When I lost my Elle in April 2025, I tried to write about her, but I couldn’t fully express myself then. But now you have inspired me.
Thank you, sending hugs and love. Pam.
Aww! Thank you, Pam. I’m glad that, indirectly, Ogden is inspiring you to express yourself about Elle. Much love to you.
What a beautiful tribute, Elaine! And what a beautiful example you and Ogden have given the world about life, loving, and letting go. It seems to me that Ogden was actually sage and mentor for you. Anyone who could know him in that role would be a fortunate being! Thank you for sharing this.🩵
You just made me cry… I believe he was actually a sage and mentor for me. He was so precious and wise. I learned so much from him – Thank you!
Beautiful and all true.
But I’ll say this.
8 pets I’ve had myself.
When a pet’s body is shutting down for whatever reason and they die on their own, it is for me easier and less questioning than when I’ve had the vet do it.
That’s when “what else could I have done” hits fever pitch.
When a pet goes on their own, th’re in charge of their own passing. M
Sending you so much love and understanding.
Thank you so much, Jan. This really helps. He was so gracious and gentle even in his passing… Thank you for sharing this.
This is so perfect and exactly captures what pets mean to us and what they do for us and how bereft we feel when they’re no longer here.
And I’ll say this.
After 8 pets that I’ve been in charge of:
When a pet’s body starts to shut down and we’ve done all we can and they leave us under their own power, it is nature, it is them taking charge of their own passing. It is final.
When I’ve had to do the telling to the vet to please put a pet out of his or her pain, that has been 100 times harder. Like I did it. I took their life.
You were lucky.
Oggie left you on his own terms.
Of course it’s still horribly painful.
But he raised his sweet head and put it back on your (!) lap. ❤️
Thank you for sharing this. Nature took over… his nature and I was so honored and blessed to be holding him and BEING with him in his final moments, even though it broke my heart into a million pieces.
Such a beautiful and eloquent love letter. His soul will be with you forever. You cherished and loved each other, and savored all the moments — you really did know they were a gift. I could feel how much you knew that every time you posted about him. With deep love comes deep grief. It’s been a year since I lost my soul cat, Nikki, and just writing that sentence brings wells of tears — still. But I wouldn’t trade these tears for anything. I am sending so much love to your grieving heart. And a suggestion for a beautiful book that helped me when I lost Nikki, entitled “The Pet I Can’t Forget.” by Karen Anderson. May it bring you some comfort as you process the impossible. 🙏❤️🩹
Thank you, Tessa. I’ve never felt unconditional love so deeply as I have with Ogden. Holding you in my heart for sweet Nikki. Those tears are precious too. Thank you so much.
I’ll get a copy of that book – thank you for sharing it with me.
It is very clear my . Ogden did his job. He met his purpose. He taught true unconditional love.
He is resting peacefully in that knowledge and yes, he is still by your side.
Thank you, my friend. I’m sad, Ogden, and I didn’t get a chance to come back to Hunter’s Run. He enjoyed being with the horses. His work here is done… I’m so humbly grateful for every moment…
Beautiful tribute to Ogden, Elaine. I went through all the same emotions when my beloved cat, Madonna, passed away. I still feel the pain and it’s been 2 years. You’ll never get over the loss. You’ll just get used to it. Reading your blog brought back all the memories of losing Madonna. I cried with you all over again.
Thank you, Susan. I’m sorry for reminding you of the pain of the loss of your beloved Madonna. They are so incredibly precious. They are with us for such a short time, but remain deeply in our hearts. Much love.
Beautiful tribute to a best friend. The love was mutual.
Thank you so much, Corinne. I believe this is true. We had such a deep connection.
Sending you SO MUCH LOVE Elaine my heart is with you.
Thank you, Lailey… I feel your love, my friend.
I cried, Elaine, for you and for Michael. And for Oggy. I can’t count how many pictures of him I’ve seen over the years. He was your shadow and your soulmate, your animal kin. I can’t imagine how difficult this is, especially since it was so sudden. My dog before Lucy was my Oggy. He’s the only dog I’ve ever grieved for long after he’s been gone. I know that Oggy was that for you. Your losses of the last couple of years are absolutely devastating. I wish we could understand. All I can say is that my heart breaks for you. And I send you so much love and many many hugs. Take tender care of yourselves.
THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for caring and understanding. Losing a dog is so hard… Much love.