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I was 24 when I adopted my "soul dog," Tovi. I was in graduate school, living alone for the first time in a studio apartment the size of a shoebox and furnished by the FREE section of Craigslist. Tovi died shortly after I turned 37 and, by then, had walked me down the aisle at my first wedding and served as my husband's Best Dog at the next. We experienced countless moves, milestones, and ordinary moments in between the bookends of his life.

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His companionship enriched my life in ways I could have never imagined. He was truly the love of my life, my once-in-a-lifetime dog. He gave me the best days of my life, and when he died, the worst.  EVERYTHING changed. It felt like life split into the Before and After. My grief became even more complicated when I struggled to attach to the subsequent dog I adopted.  Both were tremendous losses—the loss of what was, and the loss of what I expected life with a dog to be. Over time, New Dog and I worked through our challenges, and I learned that every time we fall in love, it's a different experience.
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As a lifelong journaler, I turned to what I did best. I wrote, and wrote, and wrote some more. During the time Tovi was in the Pet ER, I would write him “notes” in a Ziplock bag hanging from his kennel, reminding him how much I loved him and of the good times we had, and those still to come. Sadly, he didn't recover, but the writing continued.  It was not only a way to process my pain, but I found it memorialized him as I preserved the moments of our life together. I began to refer to my writing as “Pet Therapy Notes."  I discovered the power of the pen to paper in healing, and I want to share that with you. 

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I have a Master's Degree in Counseling Psychology with additional training in grief. I entered the field because I found it interesting academically, but it wasn't a good fit in practice.  Being a clinician literally gave me mini panic attacks several times a day (exaggerating a little, but it was a bad time in my life), and after twelve long years in the field, I let it go in 2019. I've never felt mentally better. This is my long-winded way of letting you know I cannot be here to counsel you, but I have tons of resources for professionals who can. 

 

Throughout my life, I've been involved in the rescue community as both a volunteer and foster mom. When I later worked at a shelter, I encountered an entirely new aspect of loss: surrendering a pet, behavioral euthanasia, and the terror of a missing pet. 

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I live in Baltimore with my husband, a cat named Mou, and two dogs, Fred and Ethel. They enjoy strutting around our neighborhood, hiking, indulging in Bully Sticks, and are avid Lambchop collectors. The things that fuel me are dog walks, biking, hiking, Bikram Yoga, reading, podcasts, thrifting, and  Hallmark Christmas movies. And of course, my dogs. So obsessed with my dogs.

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