My Ellie Bellie

I've been putting off this blog for awhile, which is partly why I'm so behind on the blogs. But it's now been nearly two months since we lost Ellie. My heart is still as broken as ever, and I miss her so much, but I am getting better at being able to talk about her without bursting into tears (though I doubt I'll get through this blog without shedding a few). 

Today, however, seems like the appropriate day to write this. It's December 22, and eight years ago today, we went to the shelter and came home with Ellie. I've told everyone her adoption story a million times, but here it goes, one more time: We lost Gracie earlier in the year, and nearly six months later Sophie followed. The kids kept talking about how empty the house felt without a big dog. I agreed, but the thought of getting a full grown shelter pup was a little scary. I had small dogs. Cats. Children. How would I know whoever we brought home would be safe for all of them? 

So, while we went up to Ohio to visit, Asa, who had to stay behind for a few days- went to the shelter to scope it out. No sense bringing the kids if there wasn't a good fit. He met with a few dogs, and then asked the volunteer to bring out a dog that always gets overlooked. They brought him a dog named Nellie. She had been at the shelter nearly six months: her intake day ironically listed as the day Gracie passed away in July. She was sweet, and docile, and most importantly- she needed us. Asa sent me her picture. She wasn't exactly a looker. She had a scar on her nose from when another shelter dog attacked her. She lacked fur on the back half of her body, her tail completely barren of all fur. She had been mistreated in her previous home, likely used as a puppy mill, found tied up outside to a truck fender in 100 degree heat, weighing only 35 pounds. So, she was brought to the shelter, all dissheveled, and scarred. But her eyes, there was something in her eyes. 

Asa flew up to Ohio after that, leaving Ellie at the shelter to discuss. My cousin Joanne insisted we needed to get Nellie- perfect because we had planned to name the dog we ended up with after the presidents project would be named after a president. Fitzgerald if it was a boy. Eleanor (after Eleanor Roosevelt) if it was a girl. Her name was already Nellie. We could call her Ellie. It was perfect. Still, I was a bit nervous. 

We arrived home from Ohio on the 22nd. We dropped our stuff at home and headed out to the shelter. We were taken to the little outdoor space for prospective adopters- and after seeing one other dog (Rollie Pollie, who was just your high energy loveable dog that surely found a home days later), a kind volunteer brought out Ellie. She just sat there and stared at us. She didn't even want to come off the cement pad into the "grass" (it's fake grass over there, but still). So, Hayden sat down and patted the ground. (N)Ellie walked over, laid down and put her head in Haydens lap. And that was it. I was sold. Ellie was our dog. 

By the time we got her out of her kennel and on a leash in the lobby, her spirit was starting to shine. She was walking around, accepting bellie pets, and wanting to leave the building with us. When we piled into the car, a lovely volunteer came chasing us going "Oh my gosh, is that Nellie? Did you guys adopt Nellie? She's my favorite!" (A sentiment, as a volunteer, I so now perfectly understand). She snapped a picture of us, one I so wish I still had. It would be the first of thousands of pictures of me and Ellie. It still will never be enough. 

We brought Ellie home, and I don't even remember introducing her to Phenom and Porkchop. It was that seemless. I do remember her crawling up on the (new at the time) couch and me thinking 'We probably shouldn't have Ellie on the new couch', but she looked so comfy and after all she'd been through, I couldn't bear to tell her to get down, so I just covered her with a fuzzy blanket. And thus began her long life of loving and appreciating a good spot on the couch and a fuzzy blanket. For her entire life I'd cover her tail and tuck her in, if it felt the slightest bit chilly. 

The tail, by the way, never did get all the fur back. But the rest of her did, and she had the prettiest, fullest brindle coat. Her squshy face, and the little black spots on her tounge among my favorite features. And the tiniest bit of white strip she had just between her eyes. Not to mention her white paws, that she always let me hold like we were holding hands. Her softest fur was that little crook where their paw meets their pads. No other dog lets me pet them there the way Ellie would. 

Ellie did eventually come out of her shell. She went from not wanting to go off the cement patio to chasing lizards with the best of them. Rough and tumble Ellie loved going out to the yard to watch them for hours. Even jumping in the fire pit to go after them just last spring. To my knowledge, she only ever caught one- a trapped lizard in the neighbors screened in pool area. The second she got one, she chewed for like half a second and spit it out like it was the grosses thing she ever tasted. But, right after she still went back to chasing them. 

As much as Ellie loved a good couch spot (and would literarlly stare at you, and huff at you if you were sitting on 'her' spot on the black couch), she also liked to play. Of course, she never really learned how to play, since her puppy years likely weren't so great. But, she loved de-stuffing a good stuffed animal, and every once in awhile you'd get her to play with the rope with Etta. 

She was a good walker- especially during covid times. She'd walk the loop with me every single morning, and she'd take forever. Girl was a slow walker- and she'd stop and sniff everything. And, I would just let her- to the point nobody else liked to walk her because she stopped to sniff too many times. But, I thought it was a good reminder to stop and 'smell the roses' so to speak. When she got too old to do the loop anymore, I just said we were 'out for a sniff' instead of 'out for a walk'. 

Ellie also loved a good treat. Rawhides were her favorite until she got her broken tooth towards the end (sadly, they couldn't remove it because of her advanced age and health issues). But then I'd make her pupcakes, and I discovered she loved squash- so we even started making her her very own food- a combo of rice, chicken, and squash. The vet at the end (Dr. Daniels is wonderful you guys!)  had told us we will know it's time if Ellie stops eating. So every morning for months, when Ellie got up and had her breakfast, I'd declare "Not today, Zurg!" Also, another good lesson- if her day wasn't that day, it was time to just live in the moment and enjoy and cuddle her for one more day. Ironically, even on her last day she ate most of her squash breakfast. She just loved it that much (She even took a little piece of bacon from me just hours before, it'd be the last thing she ate). 

There's so much about Ellie I'd love to share. She was just like my soul mate in dog form. I just got her- she'd been through so much but she still appreciated her love and her people. She wasn't always one to jump on you, or to ask you to play, but you could always get her going. (Her favorite game was to chase Asa around the house to try and 'catch' him, or follow reflections of lights from our phones onto the floor and walls and furniture). She just taught me so much about resiliency. 

Ellie's preferred method of socializing was just to be 'where the people are'. She would follow you around, just to lay in the room with the most people. She did what we called 'Ooze Checks' (we had so many nicknames for that girl: Ellie Bellie, Azzer-bazzer, Oozer-Boozer, Azerbajainer, the list goes on and on). She'd be happily sleeping, snoring even, and then pop her head up to see if people were still around. If not, she'd get up and go to the room with the most people around. It's part of the reason we put her urn in the middle of the house- she always wanted to be in the middle of people. In fact, I never realized how much ellie just sat right up next to me, with her butt on me, just so she'd know I was there- until she was gone, and the couch just felt so weird without her. It's because I didn't have warm Ellie butt up against me anymore. That's been a hard adjustment. 

Every once in awhile, you'd get some licks from Ellie. They were few and far between, but when she did- oh man, you felt so special. Either that, or she was apologizing. Ellie maybe got in trouble five times in her life. And every time, she'd come up to you and offer some apologetic licks. 

Man, the girl was smart. You could teach her anything in a day. She knew all the classics 'sit', 'stay', 'down', 'paw', but she knew things like speak to a weird degree. I taught her 'Ruff' (I'd ruff, she'd rough back- but then she'd match your VOLUME. Soft ruff, she'd quiet bark. Loud ruff, she'd loud rough. It was nuts. (She had such a deep manly bark too, she didn't use it much- but when she did- look out). 

The downside of that, was she'd teach herself things too. Like herding. Man, Ellie loved to herd you. If she was 'huffing' at you, look out. Her preferred method of communication was stare you down and huff at you. I usually could tell what she needed by the look, the time of day, what she already had. But, if you didn't know, as soon as you got up, she'd let you know. If she needed to go out, she'd herd you to the back yard (or if she just wanted to chase lizards), hungry or out of water? She'd herd you to the kitchen. And man, she learned her time of day. She knew when it was walk time, she knew when it was dinner time- and you best not deviate from her schedule or she'll be herding you. Time for a walk? She'd herd you to the front door. Girl had brains. 

She'd also pick up on trends. When I made Asa his garden for his 40th birthday, she came out there with me every single day, and then when the garden renovation was done, she was so confused why I wasn't going out there everyday anymore. Like I said she liked to be outside chasing lizards, and she wanted to be where the people were- so she loved meshing those two things. 

There's just so many things about Ellie that I loved. Those eyes. That sqishy face (Asa used to squish it and say 'squishy face, sqishy face' and she just totally let it happen). She was such a mom- the ruler of the pack, that tolerated so much, but if you got out of line, she'd toss her head back and the other pups knew she meant business. But her soul was so gentle. She was kind to every animal she ever met, she never nipped or growled at any person, she'd hang out with you outside- no leash needed (she practically took herself on all those walks, and I really had no doubt she could have done the walks herself). She was smart and sweet, and appreciative. Ugh. Those eyes. It was the eyes that even told me the day was her day. She knew it, and she was telling me it was ok. 

Our vet was closed that afternoon (of course it had to be a Wednesday), so we ended up at the emergency hostpial. I told her it was ok. I rode with her in the backseat, I  held her and pet her through the whole thing. Because even in her death, she's teaching me lessons. I didn't think I was strong enough for that- but the last few months (since the vet had told us her time was near almost 8 months ago), I had prepared to go with her when the time came. She's done so much for me throughout the years, been by my side, I had to do it for her. And I did. I held her head in my hands as she drifted off to sleep. That's the last memory she'll have of me. And I'm proud of that. 

But even in my grief (and oh man, is there grief) she's teaching me lessons. I've never been this open with my sadness. I'll cry at the drop of a hat, but I always won't try and hide it. I accepted so much love and support from our friends and family- which is very unlike me. But man, did you guys deliver. We got hugs and cards, and texts. People brought over cupcakes and sent cookies in the mail. Our vet called the day she heard and then sent us flowers. The hospital that we went to sent a lovely card with ellie's footprint in it (it was such a chubby identifiable foot print too). We even so thoughtfully had a breakfast bought for us. 

Still, the grief just hits you sometimes. I miss her little head sticking up from the couch the second we open a door. I miss her butt sitting up against me, I miss my shadow, I miss the matriarch of our dog pack (and I know the other pups do too- poor Porkchop was losing fur left and right after Ellie died). When the Christmas lights in the neighborhood went up, a house on the corner of Blue Spring and Citrus Blosson inflated this Christmas Stegosaurus they have. The first time I saw it, I cried. Ellie wasn't scared of much, but that dinosaur terrified her. She wouldn't even walk that way at Christmas time. 

We did feel better- and a bit of closure when we got her ashes returned to us. I never got that before Ellie, I thought- so at the end of your life you just have like 20 urns on your mantle? But the second they asked about Ellie, I knew I wanted her ashes back. Because the thing is, she didn't have a home for her first three to five years of life. I know 'she' isn't really here anymore, but I needed some part of her to come home. And be in the middle of people. 

Ellie was the best of dogs. I'll probably never have another dog I just connect with their soul the way I did Ellie. But, you know I was lucky to get a heart dog once in my life. You never know who she might send me. For now, I walk all the other Ellie's at the shelter, and hope to help someone find their Ellie. Because I wouldn't give up the nearly eight years I had with her for anything. 

Sleep well, Els-a-Bels. I will forever miss you.