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Our good doggy friend Ella was PTS today. Last month she stopped eating, and after several rounds of inconclusive tests, earlier this week the vet discovered that Ella had an inoperable mast cell tumor in her stomach.
We first met Ella in 2011, when Mia was not quite 1 yr and Ella was around 2.5 yrs. Ella was clearly the mature one: where Mia is rough-and-tumble, Ella was soft-spoken, attentive, and sensitive. Despite her dignified demeanor, Ella had a ready smile and was not above a chest bump to start a game of chase, where she - with gusto! - preferred to be the rabbit.
When we moved back to the area in 2017, Mia and Ella resumed their easy friendship over long Saturday morning hikes. After an exuberant greeting of whinging, helicopter tails, and chasing, Mia would take the lead and Ella would bring up the rear, sandwiching the humans between them. Across rolling, wooded hills lined with creeks and dotted with beaver-made ponds, they communed wordlessly, in a language their oblivious humans never deciphered, but seemed to involve a lot of stopping and sniffing and peeing.
We learned yesterday that today would be Ella's last. Mia took the news in stride, but I did not. Most likely, Mia has known for some time that this was coming. On our last hike last Saturday, a short stroll to a creek and back, we made what would be our goodbyes. Ella initiated a few gentle chest bumps, followed by smiles, pettings, and treats, the four of us enjoying one last happy morning in the sun.
Young Ella (with a Spanish Water Dog friend in the foreground) pictured around her third birthday in 2011.
We first met Ella in 2011, when Mia was not quite 1 yr and Ella was around 2.5 yrs. Ella was clearly the mature one: where Mia is rough-and-tumble, Ella was soft-spoken, attentive, and sensitive. Despite her dignified demeanor, Ella had a ready smile and was not above a chest bump to start a game of chase, where she - with gusto! - preferred to be the rabbit.
When we moved back to the area in 2017, Mia and Ella resumed their easy friendship over long Saturday morning hikes. After an exuberant greeting of whinging, helicopter tails, and chasing, Mia would take the lead and Ella would bring up the rear, sandwiching the humans between them. Across rolling, wooded hills lined with creeks and dotted with beaver-made ponds, they communed wordlessly, in a language their oblivious humans never deciphered, but seemed to involve a lot of stopping and sniffing and peeing.
We learned yesterday that today would be Ella's last. Mia took the news in stride, but I did not. Most likely, Mia has known for some time that this was coming. On our last hike last Saturday, a short stroll to a creek and back, we made what would be our goodbyes. Ella initiated a few gentle chest bumps, followed by smiles, pettings, and treats, the four of us enjoying one last happy morning in the sun.

Young Ella (with a Spanish Water Dog friend in the foreground) pictured around her third birthday in 2011.