Saying Goodbye to My Sweet Fur Baby
By Susan Hunt-Bradford
Photo: Jazzy Hunt-Bradford
I’ve always loved dogs—every single one of them. Big, small, young, old, from every breed and color, I love them all. Dogs are loyal, funny, and full of personality, offering unconditional love to us even when we don’t always deserve it. There’s no downside to having a dog, except for one—the moment they leave us. And that moment is absolutely devastating.
I’ve found myself using that word a lot these past few days. My sweet, 15-year-old Jazzy has passed, and I am completely heartbroken. She was one of a kind. Every dog is unique, but Jazzy was truly special—bossy, independent, and at just 15 pounds, she ruled the roost with a fierce little spirit. She wasn’t intimidated by her much bigger brothers, and she certainly wasn’t afraid to take charge.
Jazzy had a few quirks, too. If you handed her a treat, there was a good chance you’d lose a finger in the process. She adored food, especially human food—and was quick to snatch it, gobble it down, and come back for more. How she stayed so slim is a mystery. She was my princess, spoiled just like all my fur babies, but she was also a leader.
She had been in great health until recently. Aside from her sass, she had no issues. Last Friday, I was getting ready to go out, and she was prancing around, just like she always did. I even remarked how amazing it was that she was still so spry at nearly 16 years old running around like a puppy. That evening, when I came home, she greeted me at the door along with her brother. But at midnight, everything changed. Jazzy had a seizure, and more followed. She became lethargic and couldn’t stand. The vet suspected a brain tumor, but I couldn’t understand how she’d deteriorated so quickly. She stopped eating, and although she wasn’t in pain, it was clear she wasn’t really living anymore. Alive, but not living, that’s no way to be. So, I said goodbye, and she crossed to the rainbow bridge.
The loss has left a huge void in my heart, and her brother seems to miss her too. Though they didn’t interact much, he was always a little intimidated by her—I can tell he’s feeling the absence.
Her bed is empty, and so is a part of my heart. I find comfort in the thought that one day, I’ll see her again. I hold onto the belief that all dogs go to heaven, and I hope I make it there too. When I do, I imagine Jazzy will be waiting at the door, just like old times. I love you Baby Lady.