Thursday, November 15th 11:10 p.m.
Numb. Reeling. Hollow. How to process? Where to start?
She was always the frail one. The day I brought them home, it was obvious the little 8 week old pup was not as strong as her twin sister. 
Half her sisters size, her nose pushed in, labored breathing. After a few days of observation we thought maybe she would not be with us long. So we loved on her and babied her and cared for her, thinking it would be short term. But to our surprise, she gained strength as she grew up. She responded to our love and attention. She developed into a beautiful, my beautiful, Sunny Girl.
Sunny Girl. Like furry sunshine.
She was always the friendly one. Happy and full of energy. Never shy about running up to strangers with tail wagging and eager expression as if to say “Hi I don’t know you but I’m sure you’re wonderful!” Walks were “runs” of joy, undoubtedly to prance up to anyone and everyone we met along the way. She held no judgment, opinion or suspicion, just curiosity and acceptance. She readily accepted every new family member into our home without question or resistance. Buddy, Jack, Holly, Aphrodite, Cleopatra, Kokoa, and Delilah. She was always ready to “give paw” and be your friend. She wanted to know everyone. Because of her, I met many, many people I may not have otherwise. She knew how to reel them in. She taught me much about random acts of kindness. She was a living example of one, with just one look.
She was always the pretty one. My little Barbie Girl. She knew she was pretty and feminine and dainty. She knew that her sweet little under bite was adorable, and she used it frequently to win hearts. Unlike her sister, she was not interested in the hunt, or the dig, or the smelly “whatever”. No, she liked to have her hair brushed, her bows in, and be picked up and carried across the wet spots, as it should be when you’re that beautiful. Yes, she was my princess. She knew her long blonde hair flowed like liquid silk as she swaggered down the sidewalk, and worked it. She turned heads, racked up smiles and compliments, and brought a little sunshine and joy to everyone we met.
She was always the sensitive one. When I was sick, or sad, or worried, or angry, she was the one to come to my side first, and try to comfort me. And there were so many of those times over course of our world. Without fail, she was always, always there. She would cuddle up to me and lick my hand as if to lick the problem away, even try to lick my tears away. She was a fixture on my lap until she knew I was okay. 
She didn’t ever cop an attitude, hold a grudge, or think any less of me for any reason what so ever. She adored me as I did her. She protected me, guarded me. She was my right hand girl. My sounding board. My cheering section. My Sunny honey. She got me.
She was quite the adventurous one. Even though she was a prissy little girl, she still liked a good adventure. She loved to ride shotgun in the truck, on the console between the bucket seats, while Angel took passenger side. Often she would help drive….she loved the outdoors and our road trips. She was a hiking girl, a camping girl. Every time I would take the tents out to set up,
she would run and jump on top of one as I tried to set it up, and was inside checking things out the moment I had it staked down. She never complained when it was hunting season. She and her sister assumed guard positions over the truck or our camp while I would be in the field hunting. On my return, she was always eager to smell me, and Buddy, up and down to learn all about where we’d been and see what we came home with. She understood and accepted that I was the hunter and gatherer and provided for our family.
She was always the finicky one. Getting that girl to eat was often an act of congress. Her tummy was sensitive beyond words. We dashed her to the vet more than once because of tummy troubles, tooth troubles, or back end problems. We often struggled with what to feed Miss Sunny Girl, sometimes to my wits end with 3- 5 brands of food to rotate at a time. But we always found something, even if it was hamburger and rice boiled on the stove after trying to cook up 10 other things first, or plain greek yogurt on a spoon.
Until these last few weeks.
What I would give to have her under foot, making her meals and hand feeding them to her.
My frail, pretty girl tried to be strong enough for both of us, tried not to disappoint, but just couldn’t do it anymore.
I am so very tired. Not from the worry, or the feedings, or the “accidents” or being up all night from her pathetic cries. No, it’s about the void. The exhaustion that comes from feeling like someone came and tore out your heart, right from your chest, leaving you in a bottomless pit of emptiness. Feels like I’ve lost a huge part of me, like an arm or a leg, or a lung. Somehow, I had it in my mind that she’s still my little girl, she’s only 16, and we’ve got things to do, places to go, years, and years yet to share.
But no. She is already over 123 dog years old.
She definitely did her best to not leave me. Say it……say it……..I. Just. Can’t.
Wednesday November 21st 7:00 a.m.
I’ve been stumbling around the house for a week, looking at all the ways it’s absent of her. The empty dish on her special mealtime shelf. Her favorite chair, my $2k massage chair, yes, that was Sunny’s favorite place to sit and be in charge of the living room. The back corner of their “bedroom” on the carpet square. Tears seem to be endless. Trying to remember to breathe. Trying to seek refuge in yoga and meditation. Trying to consider the upside. My God, is there an upside? Hell no.
And then there’s the heartbreak of trying to comfort Angel, who doesn’t understand what’s going on, and walks around and around and around, and alongside me, looking for her sister. Trying to comfort Kokoa, and even Holly who both know full well something big has happened. They are being so quiet, and sweet. They know. When I have a moment to myself I go back and forth between my dreadful selfish need to have Sunny Girl with me, and growing selfless desire to know she is in a much better place now.
Yogi’s believe we are spiritual beings, simply passing through and having a human experience. That this time, here and now, is a mere speck of what our true soul selves are, that we are eternal light and goodness. And the same holds true for animals. I fully embrace this belief. Still,
It just never gets easier. In fact, it gets harder to experience loss. All of my yogic logic went right out the window at the thought of losing Sunny Girl, and now? Geeze I can’t even remember to breathe this past week.
She gave everything she could to me for 16 years, 9 months and 13 days. And I gave everything I could to her. My baby doll Sunny. Her heart was pure, her devotion unending. I was most certainly blessed to have such a strong, unwavering, unconditional commitment with another being for so long. Beyond best friends. Beyond family. My Sweet Sunny Girl. I was so very blessed.
Watching her decline so rapidly and feel so damn helpless to fix it…was unbearable. On the inside I cried to the universe “please don’t take her from me!” but on the outside all I could do was suck it up, and reassure her it was okay to follow that beautiful white light. Put my own selfish wants aside. Encourage her to rise up and surrender to something so much better than this mortal life with us.
As she lay in the comfort of soft cushions, toys and blankets, her breath slowing, her eyes softening, I chanted, well, I cried, Vedic Mantras to her throughout the days and nights in hopes that she would feel safe to let go. On Tuesday evening I chanted Ohm Shaanthi to her until 7:10 p.m. Then, for the first time in days, reluctantly left her side under friends careful watch, to go to a much needed restorative yoga practice. Not wanting to disappoint me, she literally waited just until my truck pulled out of the driveway.
Sunny Girl Brady ascended on Tuesday November 13th, 2018 at 7:24 p.m.
There. I said it.
Love you to the moon and back, Sunny Girl. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Our family grieves the loss of your beautiful physical presence, and pray you shine your pure loving light over us until we can heal our grieving hearts and meet again.
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