Trigger warning: illness and death. Feebs is doing better than expected, but please look away if this is a tough topic for you!

Feebee’s big heart is breaking. Literally. She’s always been a reactive girl, quick to panic at the smallest noise. Every time a delivery driver clattered up our busy stairwell, her pulse pounded so hard I could actually see it thudding through her thick fur. Her ticker was trying way too hard.

The vet is even harder for her. To check her heart, she needs general anesthesia, which means a full, exhausting day of sedation and recovery. She had a grade six murmur, so we did it anyway.

And so, in September 2023, I found out she had advanced heart failure. Dogs at her size and stage would usually have around six months. Vetmedin might help, but with mystery mixes it’s hard to know. Maybe she’d surprise me. They told me I’d know when it was time to bring her back for end-of-life care.

I dreaded that day. Not just the loss, but how scared she’d be. Even at-home services would be awful for her. So, as morbid as it sounds, I hoped I could find a way to let her heart give out naturally while playing. That’s not easy in a city condo without a yard, especially with dogs filling every nearby park.

I’d always felt drawn to New England, but after her diagnosis, my curiosity turned urgent. A few months later, I packed my things into storage, found a short-term tenant, and drove to a farm I rented for three months in Vermont. More space, more quiet. More snow since she loves that. I just hoped that here, she could spend her days sniffing fresh air instead of dodging strangers in the street.

She loved it. I learned quickly that I couldn’t trust her off leash, because she would happily eat dirt, grass, and worse until she made herself sick. But at least we could have on-leash adventures without the constant reactive run-ins.

I had no idea we’d still be in rural New England a year and a half later.

Maybe it’s the lower elevation, maybe it’s the peace and quiet, but she is doing so much better these days. She’s calmer, too. When a repair person came by, she barely looked up. Another dog barking at her on the trail used to set off a meltdown, but now she lets me lead her out of the situation. She’s even made peace with her arch nemesis, the Robot Vacuum. The other day it scooped up one of her toys; she calmly retrieved it and set it on the couch where it would be safe.

She’s showing signs of age now: she turns back sooner on hikes, has white hairs sprinkled through her muzzle, often needs a lift to join me in bed, and naps more than she used to. She was cuddly before; now she seeks me out for snuggles and hugs. She’s still bossy about sticking to our schedule, fights me on nail trims, and tries to eat dirt whenever we pause on a trail. But her heart is huge (literally and figuratively!) and I’m grateful it’s still beating.