My girl, Stella


My life with Stella was short – just a little over six years – but it was the best six years I could have ever hoped for. She was small for her breed, but we quickly discovered that she had a big personality and lots of demands. As is typical of French Bulldogs, Stella was allergic to many things, and because of this, developed a broad and discerning palate. We quickly discovered that she loved quail and sweet potatoes, but was not a fan of kangaroo and peas. We discovered just as quickly that she loved kittens, the ocean and had a massive sweet tooth. She loved patios and people and pull-aparts from Thomas Haas. Lunches and brunches with my mom quickly turned into a party of three. Stella was full of life and character.


It’s hard to explain how much Stella meant to me because I’m not sure I even fully understand it myself. But when I get in my car, and I don’t see her Cheshire cat grin in the rear-view mirror, when the bed is empty where my little spoon used to be, when I’m working at my desk and don’t feel that little paw asking for my lap, when my parents pick me up from the airport and no one demands a bite of my taquito, when I search high and low for that sweet little girl and she’s nowhere to be found – that’s when I’ll know.


Every day, I thank the Lord for the opportunity to have had that little girl in my life. I miss everything about her, but I know that she’s in a much, much better place. My mom and I picture her up in Heaven, surrounded by all the kittens her little heart desires, and in that we find peace.

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We love you, Stella.

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