Kona's legacy: What the death of my soul dog taught me, and what that means for you.
Buckle up pup, this one’s gonna be long, and a little raw. You may want to grab the tissues.
If Kona’s death has taught me anything, it’s that there’s never enough. . .
Time, Celebration, and Adventures
Know the love of a soul dog and you'll know what I mean. In the end, you’ll look back and think:
Did I do enough for her?
Did she enjoy every day with me as much as I enjoyed them with her?
Did she take pleasure in her senior years or could I have done more?
Did she get to do everything she wanted to while she was here?
These are questions I still ask myself — two months later.
Kona loved the beach
And when I say loved, I really really mean loved. The surf breaking and washing back down the shore was her favorite place in the world to be.
The sun, the sand, the seagulls, the smells. Something about the beach was her happy place.
I don’t really know where her love of the beach came from. Was it a core memory of a time before we met each other? She was adopted from a shelter in Florida, after all. I don’t think so, she didn’t much care for the waves when I first brought her to play at the beach.
In reality, I believe her love of the ocean stemmed from her missing me. You see, not long after I adopted her, my mom had to care for her while I found a place we could live together in Florida. We were only apart for a short while but to Kona, it must have been an eternity. When mom came to visit and bring Kona to live with me, she met me out on the beach. The first thing I did was run into the waves, hoping Kona would follow.
And hot damn, she did. That girl came charging full boar into the waves without a single care in the world. She swam to me, I held her, and all was right in both of our worlds. I’m pretty sure she fell in love with the water as much as she fell in love with me that day, and I made sure to give her those weekly walks on the beach.
After moving back home to Richmond, our beach trips became few and far between. We’d visit Texas Beach and Belle Isle often, but river waves aren’t the same as ocean waves and she knew it. Kona still had a blast every time she was near water, but she would light up in a different way when it was she smelled the salt water.
In March 2022, Kona and I had the pleasure of visiting Folly Beach, South Carolina for the week. The time spent with her there is the last truly happy memory I have of us doing her favorite things at her favorite place.
You see, she still felt well enough to enjoy it.
Even in her golden years, Kona was still kickin’ it. Yeah, she had slowed down a bit; but she was still active on the regular, and strong enough to jog alongside me. And she was all too happy to chase her tennis ball down the beach and into the surf.
She was alive — physically and emotionally. I should have given her more, then.
Fast forward to late November 2022; just a short 8 months later. . . This was the week I had dreaded her entire life. The week we planned to ease her pain by saying our final goodbyes.
I had it in my head that I would give Kona a last hurrah; one final trip to her favorite place. I had planned on making it a short day trip, so we settled on Buckroe Beach. But when we got there, the beach was closed due to construction, so we popped around the corner to Fort Monroe.
As we stepped onto the sand, I expected Kona to perk up at the sounds and smells of the bay, and the feeling of sand under her paws. Instead, I was hit with the gut-wrenching realization that not only did she not care we were there, she most likely would have preferred to be at home, curled up in her orthopedic bed in the sun. Even breaking out her tennis ball didn’t lift her spirits.
I was devastated.
As I sobbed into her fur, she gave my face a lick and then sauntered back to the van. A look of ‘mom, it’s time’ was shot back at me, and in my heart, I knew she wasn’t just saying it was time to go home.
“It’s time to say goodbye, I know you’re not ready, but I am.”
The next few days were spent together, just us two. I shut the world out and retreated into a pile of blankets and fur, snuggled together, savoring every moment, and making sure Kona knew how much I loved her. How thankful I was for her; how no dog will ever come close to her, and how she’s just shattering my world right now and she doesn’t even know it.
I asked her to forgive me for not being ready even though I knew she was tired. I thanked her for holding on for me because I needed those last few signs. I made sure to tell her what a best girl she is, and as our journey came down to its final moments, made sure she got to sample as much dark chocolate as she wanted. (This time, no emergency vet visit required.)
As I held her in my arms as she passed, sobbing uncontrollably about how it wasn’t fair, I wished for more
time.
More time to spend with her when she felt better. To rewind time to when she wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down or pain at all. More time to hike Devil’s Bathtub like I always said we would. More trips to visit my mom, more paddleboarding sessions. More running in the sand, waves crashing on the shore.
More time playing ball at home without the distractions of texts and social media. More time to shut the world off and just enjoy every moment with her. More time to reconnect with her, time spent out in nature, being active, or just doing whatever she wanted to do, even if that just meant slowing down to sunbathe.
I found myself wishing for more
celebrations.
Those little things that looking back, meant the world. The times she would grab her ball and wrestle me away from the screen to play. The short walk through the woods, listening to the squirrels chirp. The nights spent curled up under blankets watching The Last Kingdom. As much as we did together, I wish I would have celebrated her life more, while she was still feeling well enough to enjoy it. I wish I would have routinely taken her to Paws to Swim instead of just a couple of times every other month or so. I wish I would have celebrated each birthday and holiday with her from the moment I got her. I wish I would have celebrated each day with her as something really special, instead of now wondering if I took her for granted at times.
And in true enneagram 7 fashion, I found myself wishing for more
adventures.
There were so many things left undone. I thought I had accepted and ‘gotten over’ that. But then I neared the end of last week’s Tennessee-Georgia-Carolinas road trip. . . and on the last night of the trip, I broke down — me, not the van. My plan was for her to take these road trips with me, for us to explore new places, and just be free. Together. Like it used to be, before we grew up and had responsibilities. For just a short moment, we could live together like kids again.
Instead, I was traveling with her cedar urn, and it hit me. . . I’m not just grieving the loss of my soul dog, I’m grieving the loss of all the upcoming plans I had with her.
She was supposed to be here to adventure with me.
To be honest, I’m angry that she’s not. Of course, I’m not upset with her, any other dog would have given up long before she did. I’m upset with myself; my timing was too late for hers.
I don’t want you to feel this way.
We always hear about time flying when it comes to children. One minute they’re nursing, you blink, and the next they’re leaving for college.
Well guess what, it’s the same thing when it comes to our soul dogs. One minute, everything is fine and you’re on top of the world. And then one day you look up and it hits you: the years spent by your side, completely devoted to you have finally taken their toll on their little body.
You find yourself saying:
“Where did that gray face come from? I swear it wasn’t there last week!”
“We just took a short walk around the block, why are you limping?”
And then one day you’ll get to:
“Do you wanna go for a ride? No? You used to love car rides; you’d rather just sleep, huh?”
“Did I do enough for you, Kona? In your early years as well as your golden ones? Did I do right by you?”
Logically, I know I did right by her, and I know I gave her the best life, but now that she’s gone, logic is replaced by emotion and it’s hard to not second-guess myself.
“Please, just give me a sign when you are ready, I can’t do this on my own.”
My greatest fear is that you’ll get to the end of your journey with your soul dog and feel the same way.
I’m here to remind you to take the time to celebrate all their adventures now.
Here are some ideas:
Take that trip you've been putting off.
Call in sick or take an extended lunch to spend time with your pup.
Leave your phone inside while you romp around the yard with your pup. Instagram will be there when you return.
Do they love balls? Grab a kiddie pool and create an epic ball pit for them to play!
Be fully present, go on a sniffari walk, and let your pup lead the way.
Start Saturday morning off with a car ride for Starbucks Pup Cups
Grab your leash and go hike those trails. Need some inspo? Here are my top 3 RVA spots to visit with your dog.
Sunbathe with your pup on a nice warm day.
Sit down and write a letter to your dog. Need prompts? Check out this amazing Heart Dog Guided Journal, by my dear friend, Krystal Hise
Lay a blanket in the grass and watch the sunset.
Practice new tricks! Older pups can learn new tricks too, and bonus points for keeping their mind sharp. (Kona knew how to sneeze on command! I bet your pup could learn that too.)
Get dirty! Play in the woods like a kid. Dirty dogs are happy dogs, after all.
And of course, honor your journey by creating lasting artwork of your pup that shows off your special bond.
Artwork that documents your life together.
Art that will serve as timeless memories, for when you need them the most.
A time that totally revolves around everything your dog loves the most.
A portrait experience that will enhance and strengthen your bond, reconnecting you to yourself, nature, and your Soul Dog.
