Grief and A Little fur Baby

In 2020, right in the middle of the pandemic, I got a dog. Not as an impulse. Not to pass time. But because I was drowning in grief.

Her name is Trixie. She was a gift, quite literally. After losing my sister, I was desperate for something, anything, that would soothe the ache I carried around every day. So, I asked my late sister’s boyfriend if he could get me a pet. And just like that, Trixie came into my life.

She was barely a month old when I got her. I could barely care for myself at the time, let alone a tiny, fragile puppy. The anxiety was real. A few hours after I got her, she vomited, and I spiraled. I thought I was going to lose her too. But from the moment she curled up in my arms, the bond was instant.

I bundled her in blankets and made a spot for her in the guest bedroom. My mom, bless her traditional African heart, watched in quiet disbelief. She didn’t say a word, afraid to step on my fragile heart. So, everyone just watched as I figured out how to raise this unexpected companion.

Google became my best friend. Every time Trixie twitched, sneezed, or wagged her tail, I was deep in a rabbit hole of research. I had no idea what I was doing, but somehow, we figured it out together. Day by day. Bark by bark.

Then came December. I got a job offer that meant relocating. As excited as I should’ve been, my heart broke at the thought of leaving Trixie behind. Taking her with me wasn’t an option, and the separation anxiety hit hard. I cried the entire 12-hour bus ride to Voi. It wasn’t the road trip I usually lived for, it was one of the hardest goodbyes I’ve had to make.

But I had videos of Trixie and I. Enough to keep me going. And the knowledge that she was safe and loved at home.

Years later, Trixie is still here, curled up in her favorite corners, loved by everyone in the house. She’s become an irreplaceable part of my life. Grief doesn’t go away, but she became a soft distraction, a living, breathing reminder that healing doesn’t always come the way we expect it.

She’s mushy, emotional, and a little dramatic. Just like me.

Today, while feeding her, I teared up. I reached down, gave her a gentle touch, and felt this overwhelming wave of gratitude. I thought, I need to write this down. Someday, I might need to remember what she did for me.

For context, my late sister also had a dog, Blee. She was a birthday gift and a gentle soul. Blee and I had a bond too, and I swear I saw grief in her eyes when my sister passed. Blee stayed with my sister’s boyfriend, as it should’ve been. But perhaps that’s what led me to Trixie.

I know not everyone gets it, not everyone is into pets. But I promise you, dogs are something else. Something otherworldly. They don’t replace what’s lost, but sometimes, they help us hold the pieces together just long enough to start healing.

And that, my friends, is the magic of dogs.
Maybe the magic of my Trixie.

Ps: I intentionally didn’t post Trixie’s picture.

Side note – We lost Blee just about the time I wrote this. I found out later and it was just so heartbreaking.