Saying Goodbye to Perfect Polly

Dogs teach us about life.

Hanging out on the deck with my Polly. Photo owned by Author.

Thank you for being here today. I appreciate your taking the time to read this tribute to my dog, Polly. Please leave heart 💜 and send good vibes to our sweet pup over the rainbow bridge.

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I'm sorry I missed you all last week. Even though I was still in the post-election doldrums, I had started writing on a fresh topic to change the vibe.

On Tuesday morning, my day started in a panic. My dog Polly usually escorts me to the bathroom after I wake, but not before first standing and giving a loud, enthusiastic whole-body shake.

But this morning, she didn't move. I walked over to her bed, hoping she'd initiate one of her luxurious front-paws-forward, butt-in-the-air stretches. Her head didn't lift to acknowledge me, which was the least she would normally do if she planned to sleep in with her daddy (a/k/a my husband.)

Polly hadn’t slept late in ages because she needed to relieve herself early in the morning. She'd been drinking and peeing excessively for the past year and a half, a symptom that remained a mystery despite several vet visits. Just a week ago, we'd learned the likely cause of her symptoms—Polly had an abdominal tumor. Until then, she'd been the picture of health, rarely having accidents or any ailments since we got her eight years ago.

Polly joined our family in November 2016, when I needed a friend the most. We had just moved to a new area where I didn't have a job, and my kids no longer needed me to send them off in the mornings. Days blurred together, and I struggled to leave the house or have structure to my day.

Polly would change all of that.

Initially, I wasn't sure my husband would agree to adopt a dog—he hadn't had a pet since childhood—but after visiting a few shelters, he was won over. We nearly adopted a dog named Trixie, but fate intervened, leading us instead to Polly. She was energetic and young, with a brindle coat of brown and black. The shelter nicknamed her "Perfect Polly" for her impeccable manners, and it didn't take long for us to fall in love.

At first, Polly was timid, creeping low to the ground on our walks at the national park. But over time, she grew braver, eventually reveling in her twice-daily walks with me. She'd stare me down at the regular walk times, fidgeting and pacing until I got the leash out. She motivated me to leave the house, move my body, and build a new routine in an unfamiliar place.

Of course, Polly wasn't really perfect. I'd later learn she had leash aggression and a growing list of quirky fears—everything from snowmen to fly swatters to trash trucks. But she was perfectly herself, teaching me about loyalty and embracing our warts, and that weirdness made us unique.

It just feels better in here, Mom. Photo by Author.

Polly didn't just change my life; she connected me to others. I've posted two stories, which you can read here and here, in which Polly introduced me, sometimes kicking and screaming, to our neighbors.

Everybody loved our girl.

Fellow walkers would greet her instead of me, and children would ask to pet or walk her. As a pit bull mix, she defied stereotypes, reminding everyone who met her how gentle and loving her breed could be.

But last Tuesday morning, something went horribly wrong with our sweet girl.

As Polly lay stiff in her bed, I woke my husband with a shriek, "Polly is dead!" He turned on the light, and her tail wagged weakly. Still, her body seemed paralyzed. At the emergency vet hospital, we learned she had internal bleeding. Surgery might locate the source, but it wouldn't guarantee a cure.

At probably around 10 years old, Polly didn't have many years ahead, so we decided to forego putting our sweet girl through the trauma of surgery.

If you've ever had to say goodbye to a beloved pet, you know how excruciating it is. The hospital staff wheeled Polly out to us on a gurney, her body wrapped in a blanket, and she appeared to have revived into her old, perky self. The staff delivered a plate of treats—peanut butter, an Oreo, a chocolate chip cookie, and a couple of berries—and she enthusiastically devoured everything but the fruit. She had standards, after all.

Polly post-last meal. Photo owned by Author.

When she had finished eating her last meal, we stayed by her side, petting and kissing her head as she took her final breath.

We were wrecked on November 19th.

I don’t think I’ve cried this much for any other pet or person. This dog was in every nook and cranny of my life. My daily rhythms followed hers, and she followed mine. We took her everywhere with us.

She was our’s, and we were her’s.

They say everything is temporary
Who the hell are they anyway?

From the lyrics, “But We Lost It,” by P!nk

We continue on despite our brokenness.

Polly's passing has left a void. She was the impetus for me to start a healthy routine when I felt lost, and now, I have to rebuild without her. Her collar hangs on a shelf to remind me of her. She wore different collars throughout the year to mark the seasons, a fitting symbol for how she taught me to embrace change and cherish the fleeting nature of life.

We received our friends' condolences, many of which reminded us that dogs are with us for too short a time. We are lucky to have spent the past eight years with her, and we’d do it all again despite knowing she would leave us before we'd ever be ready.

It's the season to be thankful, and I am grateful for my gentle and funny fur baby, even if it was just for a little while.

Polly was more than a pet—she was my partner in life's transitions, a bridge to my community, and a daily reminder to appreciate the present.

I love and miss you, Polly-girl! Until we meet again.

"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." – T.S. Eliot

Photo of a patiently waiting Polly. Photo owned by Author.