Life Lessons from Chloe: A Dog’s Unconditional Love
I was going to write about cabbages this week (cabbages and kings) but then destiny intervened. My dog died.
Below is her obituary:
Chloe, a Murray Hill celebrity, crossed the Rainbow Bridge July 24th at 4:00 p.m. She was 13 1/2 years old. A swift ball chaser in her younger years, the stately white Labradoodle, enjoyed long walks around the city of Annapolis with her human companions Nadja Maril and Peter Crilly. Her favorite vacations were the sandy beaches of Truro, Cape Cod, where she could dash into the water, roll in the sand and frolic with new canine friends on early morning jaunts.
Known for her thick fur and sweet disposition, she was never known to growl and was undeterred by the many grandchildren who tried to climb on her back and pull her tail. “She was my best friend,” says Nadja, “Always there for me through good times and bad, soothing and nonjudgemental.”
Despite being diagnosed with Addison’s disease at age five and later struggling with peripheral neuropathy and liver disease, she made the best of her life by continuing her daily routines of walking, ball chasing, eating and napping.
Her entire life, she performed her job as “door greeter” with enthusiasm and always wagged her tail. Says Peter, “Dogs really do make our lives better. She will be terribly missed.”
For months I’ve been facing the inevitable loss of my wonderful dog Chloe who has been my close companion and confidante for the past 13 ½ years. As I write this, a condolence letter from my eldest child, Justin, arrived in my inbox. Perceptively, Justin reminded me that Chloe was the first dog in my life that I chose and trained. While there were previous dogs, family dogs, Chloe was my dog.
He also reminded me that when humans form these significant bonds with our beloved pets, we face the inevitability of having to say good-bye four or more times, because their life spans are so much shorter than ours.
Experiencing the loss of someone I care about is painful, but if I never experienced the pleasure of being close and opening my heart, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. Their absence hurts, but the memories of the “good times” eventually brings joy.
Several events took place, prior to adopting puppy Chloe, that changed the trajectory of my life. In the summer of 2011, unexpectedly our daughter Alex’s Golden Retriever, 9-year-old Grace, died. A beloved family dog, I was still mourning her death when two months later I broke my back in two places in a horseback riding accident. Confined inside a Total Contact Orthosis Jacket, I’d distract myself from pain by listening to books on tape and journaling. I’d just begun to return to my office for work, when I lost my job.
My husband was supportive throughout and took on the bulk of the housekeeping, but he had his own business to run, which had several locations.
Eventually, I was able to find another editor’s job. With physical therapy, my body’s strength and flexibility began to return, but my viewpoint on what was important in life had changed.
I worked primarily from home and I felt lonely. I started filling out forms with various dog rescue organizations. Grace had been Alex’s dog, but the entire family had become devoted to her and I liked the breed. I wanted to adopt another Golden Retriever.
Adoption from a rescue organization follows certain protocols . I’d pick out a dog that was available, meet the foster parents and the dog and affirm my desire to be the dog’s next owner. The foster parents would be the ones to decide, from several applicants, who’d provide the best home for that particular dog. It felt like a popularity contest and the bias was towards a household with children.
After the second rejection I was so depressed my husband started looking in the classified section of the newspaper (we were still reading a print newspaper). He found an advertisement for Labradoodle puppies. Labradoodle was a breed we’d been talking about, that combined the intelligence and non-shed coat of a poodle, with the exuberance and pleasant disposition of a labrador retriever. In the past 13 years, the popularity of the breed has continued to grow.
“I knew you were hooked when you asked to hold that certain puppy in your lap,” my husband recalls.
Chloe grew tall and ended up weighing 68 pounds. In her prime she leaped high and her run resembled a gallop. Maybe I wasn’t going to ride any more horses but I owned a stately dog. So what if she was larger than we expected. On Saturday mornings I took her to dog training class and she learned to heel, sit, stay and come using a combination of voice and hand signals
When I had the opportunity to take some time by myself at our summer cottage for a few weeks, Chloe came with me. She slept on the floor next to my bed. I never felt alone because I had a companion. We played ball, walked on the beach, and I’d read to her aloud the pages I had written.
Chloe lived a long and full life for her breed, particularly for a dog with Addison’s. She never spent a night at a kennel. When we traveled and couldn’t take her with us, she stayed with loving caregivers and friend
Now she is gone. The memory of her waiting to lick the residue of yogurt off our cereal bowls remains. I wake up anticipating I need to run downstairs to take her for a walk and realize she is no longer curled up sleeping by the front door. Perhaps she is chasing after a ball in heaven if there is a heaven. I know she is not in pain.
September’s Catch
by Nadja Maril
(First two paragrahs),
Published in RECIPES FROM MY GARDEN, Old Scratch Press, 2024
Dusk, we walk on the water’s edge. Salt air in my nostrils. Dunes to my left and the crash of waves to my right for as far as I can see. I turn my head and see the slick head of a seal emerge for air and disappear in the surf. Four men stand on the water’s edge fishing.
The seal is close to shore and I watch the black shiny head of the seal submerge itself and reappear several yards down the coastline as we walk. Our dog Chloe runs ahead to chase the ball. She’s old in dog years, but at the beach is full of energy. My husband Peter uses a long-handled thrower to hurl the ball that whistles above the sand. She never tires of this game.
……………………….. To read the rest of the essay, you’ll have to get a copy of the book.
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Originally published at http://nadjamaril.com on July 28, 2025.
