We each find the dogs perfect for us. Sometimes, it’s the first dog we adopt and grow up with. Othertimes, it’s everybody’s second-favorite dog, who always becomes exactly what we need just when we need it.
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Bella’s reputation preceded her.
Shortly after college when I adopted my first puppy, Vegas, I wanted her to play with a furry companion. My married friends Beth and Jason Werling each had a dog. Bella was Beth’s dog originally, and she had always described her as a wild one still hanging onto her puppy energy, so we three decided it would be best for young Vegas to play with Jason’s dog, Callie.
When Vegas and I got to the Werlings, Callie wanted to have nothing to do with her. So, we introduced her to Bella, and the puppy bond was instant. Bella & Vegas became fixtures in the Werlings’ backyard. When they went out of town, Bella would stay at my place, and the three of us would go running together.
After Beth became pregnant with the Werlings’ first child, they worried about managing Bella’s manic energy while raising a baby. I was in the process of moving from Ohio to Florida, and Beth asked me if I could have two dogs at my new apartment. In that summer of 2005, I adopted the dog with one blue eye and one brown eye, and the three of us made the 1,300-mile journey south.
The move wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Bella once tore up my commemorative Rolling Stone edition dedicated to Hunter S. Thompson. On a trip to the dog beach, Bella turned heel and sprinted a mile through to the parking lot and onto a busy highway, when a kindly stranger enticed her to safety. Despite the ups and downs, Bella & Vegas became inseparable, and Bella’s longheld puppy energy turned into genuine love and affection for everyone she encountered.
On one of our first dates, my soon-to-be wife Sarah & I visited the dog park, so Bella & Vegas could meet her dog, Molly. The dogs all seemingly got along, Sarah & I quickly fell in love, and our pack was formed. “BellaMollyVegas” was a constant phrase used in our home, whenever they got a little too unruly.
When Sarah was pregnant with our first child and severe nausea limited her diet, Bella would wake with her early each morning to eat waffles together. After she was born, we traded our small Florida condo for a slightly-less-small apartment in Marlborough, Mass. In those crazy first few years, Bella was the glue. Vegas was my dog. Molly was Sarah’s dog. Bella was our family dog. She was the constant presence, always laying around on the furniture, always ready to be petted, always next in line for a treat.
Bella was the perfect dog for the kids. After Sarah gave birth to our second, third, and fourth child, Bella was their starter dog. While Vegas and Molly ran away or disappeared into their own skin whenever a curious baby or energetic toddler ambled over to them, Bella was always calm and ready. Even when they would pull her hair. Or jump on her while she laid on the couch. Or ride her like a horse. Bella was our family dog.
Molly, sadly, was the first of our pack to go. Her death was sudden, and Sarah took the loss the hardest. For years afterward, she would take a saved lock of Molly’s hair and hold it for comfort.
Bella & Vegas aged, and the house calmed on the dog front, even as our children grew more adventurous. We had moved from Marlborough to Springfield to the sleepier suburb of Wilbraham. Vegas developed diabetes and required twice-daily shots of insulin over five years. When someone once asked why we kept up with the expensive-ish treatment for so long, my first thought was, “Because she’s my dog.”
As I was making breakfast one day, Vegas had a seizure, causing her to go braindead. The decision was an easier choice than Molly’s, but all the more painful for me. My dog died in my arms.
BellaMollyVegas was now Bella.
Our family dog had grown old and lonely, but she remained great with the kids, gently walking around the backyard as they played. In an effort to find a new companion for Bella and fueled by a desire to inject more dog energy into our pack, my oldest son & I spent Mother’s Day weekend in 2018 driving all day and all night and all day down to Mississippi to adopt a cattle dog from Sarah’s friend. Thus, Lilo entered our lives.
When WBJ Publisher Peter Stanton first pitched The Dog Edition, I didn’t get it. The idea was such a left turn for a business-to-business publication used to covering real estate transactions, life science expansions, and cuts in higher education. Eventually, though, I understood. The dog economy has become so important, especially as dog humanization has risen, spawning all degrees of business opportunities, as Staff Writer Mica Kanner-Mascolo writes in her “More than just a pet” story. This growing puppy love has its downside, as costs have risen and forced more pet owners to surrender, putting a strain on the animal shelter system, as Managing Editor Eric Casey writes in his “Ruff times” story.
Doggy love has its upside, of course. As featured in The Dog Edition, Dr. Eric Dickson says his animals are the only ones for whom he doesn’t have to put on a show. A 100-pound beast has become the mascot for Austin Furniture. People often confuse AiVi Nguyen’s dog with her boyfriend. The Worcester Red Sox’s annual Bark in the Park has become so popular, it’s now held weekly and has expanded to cats . Julianne Hertel looks out for the underdog, through foster care. Michael Myers’ Aussiedoodle has a wardrobe full of authentic hockey jerseys.
As I came to understand Peter’s vision for The Dog Edition, I thought of all the dog food I bought. All the tick meds. All the insulin. The play balls. Dog beds. Leashes. Collars. Vet bills. Time spent chasing escapees throughout the neighborhood. Picking up scraps of Rolling Stone.
By the time Lilo came around, Bella wasn’t in the mood to play with a puppy. She was an old dog who struggled to rise to four feet. We started carrying the water bowl to her. One day, rising to two feet became too much. She couldn’t stand to use the bathroom. The decision was easy and heartbreaking. Sarah & I knew the answer before we even took her to the vet. The kids, finally old enough to understand, said their goodbyes. Bella died while laying across my and Sarah’s laps.
She leaves behind a legacy of love, energy, and kindness.
Bella has a successor, too, at least in spirit. While perusing Facebook, Sarah came across a couple in Newton who no longer had time to care for their two dogs while working at the airport. We adopted the brothers and renamed them Flynn Rider & Maximus. Just like Bella, Max is the largest of our three dogs, and the gentilist. He chases kids around the backyard and lets our now fifth child do flips onto him. Lilo has become my dog. Flynn is obsessed with my oldest daughter. Max is our family dog, although he might just be Sarah’s dog, looking forlorn when she leaves the room.
Like Dickson, Nguyen, Myers, Hertel, and all other dog owners, we each find the dogs perfect for us. Sometimes, it’s the first dog we adopt and grow up with. Othertimes, it’s everybody’s second-favorite dog, who always becomes exactly what we need just when we need it.
Bella was the perfect dog when I needed a companion for Vegas. Bella was the perfect dog when our pack became BellaMollyVegas. Bella was the perfect dog for kids. Bella was the perfect dog when we needed a steady presence in a life that’s always felt like the precipice of chaos. From the beginning to the end, Bella was everything we didn’t deserve but desperately needed.
Bella was the perfect dog.
Brad Kane is editor of the Worcester Business Journal
