I want to write more about Pepper. I want to share about our bunny-hopping, licky love machine and her spunky, affectionate personality. I want to share all the good about Pepper with you right now and direct my focus and sadness into remembering why the void she left feels so big — because we loved her so much — but I know there are likely questions and I want to get this part out of the way because this is the part that is ripping me into pieces right now.
Yesterday morning, once all the boys were in school, I leashed Comet and Pepper up for a walk. We walked a route we’ve walked a million times. It’s a walk we’ve done with the kids and dogs too many times to count. We were more than a mile from home and walking across the street from a neighbor’s house. Their German shepherds were out and started barking as they ran toward their fence. They were behind a fence so I glanced away toward Pepper and Comet who were not reacting and just peacefully walking and sniffing along.
And then I glanced back toward the fence and the larger German shepherd was out of the fence and running at top speed toward us. I was immediately on alert because of the dog’s speed and yelled a firm, “NO!” but the dog kept coming and made a beeline straight for Pepper. Tiny Pepper who adores other dogs and has never met a stranger. Everything happened at warp-speed as the dog took Pepper’s body into its mouth. The dog grabbed Pepper’s torso and would not let her go as I screamed and screamed. I just remember yelling, “NO! NOOO! NO! HELP! PLEASE HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!” at the very top of my lungs, hoping and praying the owners would come outside and call their dog off or the dog would drop Pepper and she would somehow be okay.
It was all so fast and a blur and I just remember falling to my knees and and trying to get to Pepper. I was terrified for Pepper and I was terrified of this dog that didn’t seem to hear me yelling as it kept attacking my defenseless tiny dog. Pepper was was on her back with her little mouth open and her tiny paws in the air not standing a chance and this helpless feeling of pure terror is one I am struggling with so much right now. I cannot stop replaying this moment in my mind and it makes me shake as I type this and it makes me want to vomit and cry and permanently erase this from my memory forever because it was so, so awful.
The neighbor next to the house with the dog that was attacking Pepper has two dogs who came running down their driveway barking and this was the distraction that stopped the attack, as the dog dropped Pepper and took off toward the other two dogs. I immediately scooped Pepper’s limp body up in my arms at the exact same time an SUV drove around the corner and pulled over. My friend Molly lives in the neighborhood and thank God she just happened to be driving down the street and heard me screaming and pulled over right when she saw me. I just remember shaking and saying my dog was attacked and Molly saying, “Get in.” At this point I finally saw someone walking down the driveway of the house where the dog came from. I yelled out, “Your dog attacked my dog” as we were loading Comet and Pepper into the car as quickly as possible because I knew Pepper needed immediate attention.
I held Pepper in my arms and kissed her again and again and told her how much I loved her as Molly drove us to the closest vet. I was so, so scared for her. I could tell she wasn’t okay. She was alive but everything that was happening with her in my arms (which I, again, cannot stop reliving), made it clear to me that she was not okay. Not at all. I told Pepper over and over again how much I loved her and that she was such a good, good girl. I stroked her tiny face, looked into her eyes, kissed her and loved on her with every ounce of love I had in my body.
We arrived at the vet within 5 minutes and I dashed into the lobby saying, “My dog was attacked! I need help!” They were incredible and immediately took Pepper from my arms. I was shaking and crying and so scared and upset. I called Ryan once they had Pepper in a room and thank God I got him just as he was boarding a flight home from a work trip in California. We were both just reeling.
Within a few minutes, the vet came into the room where I was waiting and told me they did everything they could to save our girl. They gave her epinephrine and chest compressions but her heartbeat never picked up from the slow thump they heard upon our arrival until it completely stopped beating. I was feeling for her heartbeat in the car and I knew in my gut it was much, much too slow for a small dog.
I just remember crying and crying and saying, “We loved her so much. She was the best girl. Our boys love her so, so much. They are going to be so, so devastated.” The vet could not have been kinder and more understanding. I asked to see Pepper again and she brought her out to me wrapped up in a towel. My girl. Have you ever felt like you’re the sun, moon and stars to an animal? I was that for Pepper and I couldn’t save her. I think that’s part of what’s ripping me apart. I wanted to help her with every ounce of everything I have inside of me and I couldn’t.
I just cried and pet her tiny body and thanked Pepper for being the very, very best girl to me, to our family and, especially to our boys. The boys who began every single day racing down the stairs to greet HER. Not Mom or Dad, but Pepper. The boys who scooped her up when they wanted a moment to read on the couch because she’d always nestle in to their blankets and be the best cuddle buddy. The boys who morphed a tiny, fluffy princess of a dog into an outdoorsy adventurous girl who adored kayaking, camping and miles and miles of walking.
Our Pepper.
The hours that followed Pepper’s passing were miserable. I called the owner of the German shepherd. I felt sick and sad and just completely in shock. I still do. Pepper was perfectly healthy. Only 3.5 years old. We thought she’d be our family dog until the boys were into their late teens and early 20s. How was this real?
When our first dog, Sadie, died years ago it was horrendous and ripped my heart out but I almost felt like Ryan and I were allowed to be selfish with our grief because the boys were so, so young and not as connected to Sadie. This time feels different. This time my grief feels so, so heavy because it is so layered. Her loss was so sudden and so horrific but also… the boys. How was I going to tell them their beloved dog died? How was I going to tell them they wouldn’t have the chance to love on her one last time or say goodbye to the dog they adored who was only ever 100 percent love and spunky affection to them?
I have a friend who is a child psychologist who was an angel to me yesterday. We talked about how to speak with the boys. She encouraged me to be truthful but use words that weren’t as scary as “attack.” She said to say something along the lines of, “A big dog bit Pepper today. I took her to the vet and they tried as hard as they could to make her better. Sometimes when a big dog bites a dog as small as Pepper it’s too much for their little body. Pepper died today. I’m so, so sorry.” She encouraged me to tell them Pepper is not hurting at all anymore and she is in heaven and emphasize how it’s okay for all of us to cry and be sad right now because this is really, really sad.
Ryan’s flight landed around the same time I was heading home with the boys after school and we told them together. We had the boys go straight from my car into our backyard because we knew if they went into the house and weren’t immediately greeted by a teeny dog whose excited tail wags wiggle her whole body, they’d know something was up.
The tears immediately started flowing from the boys as they understood Pepper was no longer alive. We told them it was okay to feel really, really sad. We told them our whole family feels so sad because we loved Pepper so, so much. We told them the sadness might not go away for a while and that’s okay, too. We told them about how after Sadie died the very, very worst we felt was the day she died and the days after. And slowly, very slowly, we still felt sad but the sad it didn’t hurt us quite so much. Slowly, we were able to laugh more about our Sadie memories than cry. We promised them this would happen with Pepper, too. Right now we’re going to be sad and cry a lot.
Hours later, Chase turned to me and said, “Mom? Is she really not coming back?” My heart broke again because I understood. It felt unbelievable. He said, “I want this feeling to go away. I just want her to come back.” Ryder said, “If I could have one wish in the whole world, I’d wish for Pepper.”
Me too. We all just want her back.
Last night sucked. I knew it would and it did. One of the best parts of my day, every day, was when I would crawl into bed at night with my book and hear Pepper’s tiny feet scurry across the floors of our bedroom after me. She’d fly onto the bed, and bunny hop over to me, waiting for me to lift up my blankets so she could curl into my belly as I’d read.
This morning sucked. I knew it would and it did. The boys came down and it was like it hit them all over again because their days always began with Pepper kisses and Pepper playtime. We snuggled up on the couch to read together this morning and tears immediately began flowing because we all knew Pepper would normally be a fluffball right on top of our blanket. Right in the middle of our family where she belonged.
My stomach is in knots and I keep thinking I’m out of tears but I’m not. This is just really freaking hard and we are just really freaking sad.
We miss our girl so much.
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