Remembering Sadie

Some of you may have noticed that I haven’t posted much lately. It’s been a tough little stretch as we recently experienced a rather sudden decline in the health of our beloved family dog, Sadie. The past few weeks were spent soaking up every moment together- slow, sunny walks, quiet mornings, and all the gentle goodbyes in between. Though she was sore, she still made the most of each day, wagging her tail and looking up at me with those soulful eyes that seemed to understand everything.

On October 28th, we had to say goodbye. Sadie hadn’t yet had her own bio here on the blog, but she was such an integral part of our family that I want to make sure she’s represented. She deserves that.

Sadie was my first dog in “adulthood.” I adopted her from a local humane society after she’d spent more than a year waiting, overlooked and misunderstood. With little enrichment, she had developed cage aggression, which made her even harder to place. But behind the tough exterior was the gentlest heart. She just needed someone to believe in her and in return, she gave her whole heart to me.

Together, we moved hours away from home and started fresh. She gave me a sense of security when I lived alone and stood by me through every heartbreak and triumph. She was fiercely loyal, full of energy, and incredibly smart.

In the early years we took twice-daily walks and worked hard on obedience. She learned quickly, always eager for a treat or a cheerful “good girl.” Clicker training helped her focus that busy mind, and over time she transformed from a reactive dog into one who looked to me for guidance. Watching her grow and learn was one of my proudest joys.

Sadie loved to run. Alongside ATVs, the horses, or through open fields, it didn’t matter. Her stamina was unmatched; she could go for kilometres and still come back ready for more. She even climbed ladders (to my dad’s horror when he discovered this talent while working up in a tree), proving she was always up for an adventure. Water was her second home. Clear, muddy, or ice-cold, she’d wade right in and “pancake” herself flat in pure bliss. She knew how to have fun and reminded me, daily, how good it feels to live in the moment.

Car rides were another favourite- except when the destination was the vet. Then she’d turn into a thrashing alligator, rolling and twisting with Olympic-level determination to avoid going into the examination room. She had a big personality, and she lived every moment unapologetically herself.

As her time drew near, our walks slowed. She didn’t splash in the water anymore, and her steps grew heavy, but her spirit stayed bright. She still sniffed every familiar trail, winding her way through half-worn paths until we found our way back to the car. The autumn light broke through bare trees, the last red and gold leaves barely hanging on – a season of transition, just like us now, learning to live without her.

The house feels quieter. Her “spot” sits empty. Even Charlie seems to miss his snuggle buddy. Yet in the stillness, there are pockets of sunshine – in memories that make us smile, in the gratitude for all the years we shared, and in the comfort of knowing her pain is gone.

I like to think her final dreams were of her younger self. Running through the fields, barking at the ATV to “go faster,” wind in her face and joy in her heart. I hope she knows how deeply she was loved.

For as much as we saved her that day at the shelter, she saved me right back- again and again. For that, I’ll always be grateful.

Run free, Sadie Bear. We love you.