An Empty Bed: Celebrating Nettie’s Life

While dogs are frequently considered pets, their significance and contributions extend beyond this classification. Nettie was one of those special dogs we considered part of the family, our baby. From the first moment we met her, she captured our hearts. Nettie, short for Marie Antoinette, was a gentle, loving, and loyal black Labrador.

When we first got her, we still lived in a subdivision in Ohio. She went with me everywhere. She was by my side on trips to the local shops in Mason, walking on the bike trails, meeting clients, and going into the office to work. She was a bundle of love.

Her early training consisted of swapping items she wasn’t supposed to have for acceptable toys. When we started puppy training to socialize her with other dogs, she immediately peed after fearing a German Shepard pup who barked at her as we entered the first class. She never heard “no” because she was always a good puppy and quickly understood all commands. Except for ripping paper, specifically, my books, when she was mad at me, she was always well-behaved.

But the farm is where she found happiness. When we moved to Virginia full-time in 2018, Nettie was in heaven. Swimming in the pond or wading into Back Creek or Shuffle Branch was her favorite pastime. She would dutifully hike the property with me as my shadow or chase after the gator, eager for an adventure.

Nettie swimming in Back Creek

When we would get visitors at our General’s Store, an Airbnb, she would be the first greeter to say hello. After a quick welcome, she would return to rest on the front porch watching the cows in the pasture. If the guest had children, she was a source of entertainment for their visit. As a classic retriever, she loved to fetch balls, sticks, or whatever you were throwing. If you had another stick or ball to swap for the one she returned, she would drop it to chase the other one.

A guest’s picture of Nettie and her playing

After we got our second dog, Branch, a yellow Labrador, she took the role of the alpha dog. Branch knew who oversaw the house. She would put him in his place if he were too much of a puppy nuisance. He quickly learned that her bed with her name on it was hers alone. Even though they both could fit on the large dog bed, he would only lay his head on the end. Eventually, they would snuggle up together and become best friends and siblings. Big Sis would teach him the ropes.

Branch and Nettie

My shadow never left my side. She comforted me through some difficult times. Even though she wasn’t officially an emotional support dog, she took on that role. She always seemed to know if I was sad or mad. She would sit by my feet while on Zoom or the computer; she would follow me if I got up, not wanting to be too far away. She had superpowers to love unconditionally.

Nettie as a Superhero

She braved two knee surgeries at Virginia Tech Veterinary School. Patiently waiting for the procedures for months, she learned to walk and run with a broken gait. And the doctors didn’t have to anesthetize her for the exam since she would let them manipulate her knee freely. After surgery, she didn’t need the cone of shame since she listened to gentle reminders that she could not lick her stitches—such an intelligent girl.

But in the end, she no longer found joy in hikes, swims, or even being my shadow. While she always brought me a toy when I returned home, it was no longer her favorite one, the biggest one in her basket. She turned up her nose to dog food, not even accepting hand feeding. After I was instructed to try anything that might interest her, she gladly accepted our Wagyu beef as a meal.

Her happiness was gone. She always had those sad puppy dog eyes, but now she was in pain. Her lymphoma progressed rapidly, and it was time to say our goodbyes. Goodbye to the joy she found jumping on the bed to get my attention, making it complicated to make. Goodbye to the fetching, swimming, and hiking. Goodbye to the puppy dog that always made our sadness turn to happiness. She is now in Farm Dog Heaven but will always have a place in our home. Her empty dog bed reminds us that she will never be forgotten, the “empty chair at the table.”

“This chair isn’t empty, though it looks that way. It’s ready for those not with us today. As we fill our home with laughter and love, they will fill up the chair when they come from above.”