Nellie was an objectively bad dog. To put it lightly, she was a big foodie. Even more so, she was a class A counter surfer known for her “sidewinding” capabilities – jumping-up to table height, craning her neck 90 degrees, and wolfing down an entire plate of (human) dinner all within about four seconds. You could never be mad – It was truly impressive, and her look of satisfaction and achievement afterwards deserved the utmost respect. Even when guests (easy targets) would come over for dinner, they’d have to laugh and blame themselves when she’d steal their entire meal while distracted. She truly went to great lengths for a good bite, and was famously known for sneaking into the kitchen cupboard after hours (how she was able to physically open the cupboard door, we’ll never know). Often times, my parents and I would walk downstairs to find an explosion of protein powder, torn up bags of chips, cereal boxes, and avocado pits strewn across the kitchen floor and usually accompanied by an explosion of her insides on the white living room rug, as well. This habit was less celebrated, but you have to admire her pursuit to get what she wanted. Human foods that would likely kill most other dogs were just a typical Tuesday night for Nellie, and a good one, for that matter.
It's easy to classify Nellie as a typical Labrador that are known to live for food, but beyond her binge eating addiction, Nellie truly lived to love. She’d show us this routinely while cuddling on the couch that she wasn’t allowed on. Every night, she’d lift her front paws up onto the couch (if her hind legs were on the ground, it was considered “not on the couch”) and fully wrap us into her arms and rest her head onto our laps. She’d stare up at us with her big, sweet eyes and tell us she loved us just for being us (and feeding her). If we stopped petting her, she’d use her snout or paw to nudge us and tell us to keep loving her. It was weirdly humanistic – She could tell if we were anything but happy and beg us for our attention because she knew that she had the power to make us feel better. Because of this, we treated Nellie like the human she was. Whenever someone had something to show or talk about, Nellie had to see or hear. Every FaceTime with my parents included a “let me go grab Nellie so she can say hi.”
Nellie and my dad had an extra special relationship. Every morning around 5am, she’d wake him up to tell him it was time to eat, and he’d tell her to go back to bed. She’d listen, sleep for another hour, and then wake him up when it was really time. He walked her the same loop around the block every day, about five times a day, and made many friends along the way. They had profound conversations during these walks: “Nellie, see that guy? He must not be from around here,” “Nellie, that’s a mean dog, huh?” “Nellie, did the neighbors get a new fence?” With everyone they passed, Nellie would stop in her tracks, sit, sniff, and nudge her nose into the stranger’s hands to be petted. When they’d stop, she’d once again bury her nose into their hands so that they’d continue. She hated goodbyes. With this, Nellie earned herself quite the reputation in the neighborhood – Neighbors referred to us as “Nellie’s family” or “Nellie’s house.” Sometimes, people would recognize her and not us. She truly brightened so many people’s days.
Nellie lived a pretty simple life. Much to my dismay, she didn’t go on big hikes or adventures like some other dogs. She enjoyed her occasional laps in the creek and trips to the beach, but mostly just enjoyed the simple pleasures of walking around the block, being with her people, and of course, eating food. She was incredibly reliable and there by our sides through all of the ups and downs, starting when I was a sophomore in high school. During her 11 years, she attended countless lacrosse games and cross country races, helped with many nights of homework, escorted me off to four years of college, met three boyfriends, kept our family sane during a pandemic, became a prominent feature in the background of many work Zoom calls, and overall, served as the biggest, most constant symbol of “home” amidst years of growing and change. Since high school, I’ve moved to and lived in four different places, but home was always where Nellie’s dog bowl was. Upon my visits home, Nellie was always the first to greet me at the door and remind me that I was home.
As we all aged and adopted new identities, routines, and ways of living, Nellie was the common bond that grounded us all. If you’ve read “Remarkably Bright Creatures” by Shelby Van Pelt, Nellie was similar to Marcellus in that she served as the “key” between people – She helped us see one another in a certain, special way that ultimately brought us closer. After long days of work, I’d see my mom take off her real estate cloak to lie on the floor and rest her head on Nellie’s lap, telling her about her day and asking Nellie about her’s. With Nellie, she showed her loving, maternal side that reminded me of how she cared for me when I was a little girl. My dad, on the other hand, treated Nellie like a buddy. They watched sports together, manned the grill together, did lawn work together, and so on. They had their own code. For me, Nellie let me be a forever kid. Even at age 26, I was dressing Nellie up for Halloween, building forts for her to hangout in, and throwing the lacrosse ball with/to her. I’d come home from my busy corporate life in NYC and feel like my teenage self with her again. She brought out each of our simplest and truest forms, allowing us to see and respect that within one another, and love each other even more for it. Her simple living and big heart transcended through us all.
Three weeks ago, we learned that Nellie’s heart was just a little too big, making room for a sizable tumor that told us time was up. During her last few weeks, she wasn’t up to her usual antics of jumping-up onto the counter or breaking into the pantry. She was slower and had a hard time breathing, which meant that her final weeks were fully devoted to just being – endless snuggling and loving us. Having left us yesterday and reflecting on her life, it’s not any big adventures, trips, or particular moments that stand-out in my mind when remembering Nellie. Rather, it’s the everyday, simple moments of hanging out together on the couch or walks around the block that make me miss and love her the most. It’s the images I have of her and my mom lying on the floor together, and the look of cahoots between her and my dad. Moreover, it’s looking back and thinking about Nellie as the last chapter of my youth. We’ve lost an amazing pal, but I am forever grateful for the 11 years we had together and the lessons on love and life that Nellie showed us and we’ll continue to carry forward. She helped us see that throughout all the ups and downs and twists and changes, life is really about the simple, everyday joys and seeing and loving one another in our truest forms, and of course, a good snack along the way.