In Loving Memory of Our Darling Peggy.
Hello!
This is not an easy blog to write. The past few weeks have been filled with anxious anticipation and a quiet knowing that our time with Peggy was coming to an end. On January 27th, just months before her fifteenth birthday, we had to let our darling girl go.
Despite the grief, I feel called to write about her, to honour the life she shared with us. Peggy was not “just a dog.” She was family, and one of the great loves of my life.
Saying we are heartbroken feels inadequate. The house is unnervingly quiet without her, and our days feel strangely disorienting. Her absence is felt everywhere.
I have always loved animals. I was fortunate to grow up with a mix of cats and dogs, and later, when I was on my own, I shared my life with two wonderful cats, Angus and Stella. They were sweet companions, and both lived to the age of eighteen.
I’ve always wanted a dog, but when we lived in Toronto, our lives were full and busy, and it never felt fair to bring one into that chaos. That changed when we moved to Picton in 2019 and semi-retired. Suddenly, we had the time, the space, and the presence a dog truly needs and deserves.
We began looking during the pandemic, which was not easy. Lockdowns forced many people to work from home, and many were seeking companionship, so shelters were flooded with adoption applications. Then our lovely neighbour Marie shared a photo on Facebook of a dog and a cat from a shelter. Peggy was ten, and Molly was two. At the time, they were called Piggy and Kat and were bonded, meaning they had lived together for years, were close, and had to be adopted together. The moment I saw the picture, I said to Ben, “Those are our girls.”
I submitted an application right away and then heard nothing. Disappointed, I assumed they had found another home and stopped searching. Months later, the shelter called. My girls had been adopted and returned twice. They needed a home where someone was around most of the time. That was us. We met them the very next day.
This is the picture the shelter posted of Peggy and Molly, the moment it all began.
We met Peggy first. She was clearly out of shape but bursting with joy, which was obvious from her wildly wagging tail. Molly was scared and withdrawn. After a short walk with Peggy, I knew I wanted them, though Ben was understandably apprehensive. When the shelter staff mentioned that we could return them if there were any problems, I told them that would never happen, and we came home with two new family members.
Peggy settled in almost immediately, as if she had always belonged. Molly was different. She was never interested in us, and it took months before she felt comfortable sitting on the couch.
Molly was deeply attached to Peggy, and they often slept curled up together. She adored her with a comical and somewhat obsessive devotion, insisting on licking Peggy’s face relentlessly, sometimes for hours, long after Peggy had clearly had enough.
We found our rhythm. Long walks helped Peggy regain her health. She was amazing, and like most dogs, her needs were beautifully simple. She wanted to be near us, to chase balls with joyful purpose, to remind the neighbourhood dogs who was boss, to stretch out in the warm sunlight, and to run free in the sand and water.
She loved people and was fiercely devoted. She was close to Ben, but he always said I was her mom, the custodial parent, and truly, her person. She waited at the window when I left the house, watching for my return. She followed me from room to room with a quiet, steady presence while I cooked, read, wrote, and gardened. She was always close and attentive, content to be with me in every version of myself, whether I was happy, sad, tired, or grumpy. It never mattered.
Memories with Peggy
Peggy understood what we so often forget: the sacredness of the present moment and the depth and importance of unconditional love. She loved everyone. She saw no differences or divisions. Tall or short, rich or poor, from every background and every story, it was all the same to her. She loved without question, without condition, and without judgment.
This is why the world would be a more peaceful place if dogs were in charge.
There is something that happens to your heart when an adorable, furry soul greets you with pure ecstasy, as though you have been gone for months when it has only been minutes. The feeling was mutual-when I was out, I couldn’t wait to get home to be with her.
Peggy lived with many health challenges, including congestive heart disease, a neurological condition that affected her larynx and the strength in her hind legs, and dementia. Toward the end, her world grew smaller. She slept through much of the day, and her quality of life became increasingly limited.
Yet I was amazed by her resilience and quiet courage. She always tried. Even when her body was failing her, she met each moment with determination and heart. That spirit never left her. Even on the final day of her life, when her lovely vet came to our home to help her pass, she was excited to see him and gathered herself to stand on her own and greet him with her familiar warmth.
We are all grieving together now. Grief is hard, and it is the price we pay for love. Molly seems confused, as though she is wondering where her best friend has gone. She has been more affectionate these past weeks, staying close to us and seeking comfort.
The house is quiet, but Peggy’s love and spirit remain woven into every part of our home and our hearts. I will forever be grateful for the gift of her life and her love, and I will always love and miss my delightful goofball.
With love,
Anita 🙏💕🐾
