08/26/2026
🐾 Our Stella Girl 🐾
Stella was 12, almost 13 years old. She lived with us her whole life, from the time she was just 8 weeks old.
She was a French Bulldog with a HUGE personality, a stubborn little independent streak, and a life that was anything but ordinary.
As a puppy, Stella broke her leg at puppy daycare. Then, as she got older, she developed serious spinal problems that eventually took away the use of her legs. She had spinal surgery in 2018, and from then on, she became our “Crooked Stella.”
Over the last several years, she battled spinal stenosis, and somewhere along the way, our crooked dog officially became Crooked Stinky Stella. 😂❤️
But Stella never felt sorry for herself.
She was independent. She was NOT a lap dog. She wanted about 30 seconds of petting, and then she was on her way. 😂
She loved to chase anything that moved—especially the red light from a cat laser or a shiny reflection dancing across the floor.
She was stubborn, hilarious and ornery. She hated horses and feet. 😂 And she had the cutest habit of crossing her back legs when she was resting.
Stella was the last of our original Puppy Pack that we started in 2006.
Elvis, our Golden Retriever, who gave us 16 wonderful years and was Justin’s dog.❤️
Arlo, my first Pug, who was with us for 5 years before we lost him to a diabetic seizure.🐾💜
Otis, our surrendered dog who gave us 12 years and was the absolute BEST cuddle buddy ever. Everyone loved Otis.🐾💜
Vader, who was with us for 5 years before respiratory issues took him from us.🐾💜
And now… Stella.🐾💜
She was the last of that original pack.
The last one who knew all of them.
But even more importantly, Stella was the last of our pups that Justin knew and had a relationship with.
She was one of the last little pieces of that chapter of our family’s life—the chapter when all of us were together.
She knew Justin.
And he knew her.
She carried memories of a time that I can never get back.
And I think that is part of why saying goodbye to her feels so incredibly hard.
Today, our pack looks different. 🐾
We have Elsa, our surrendered Pug. 🥰
Bo, our rescued Frenchie. 💜
Arthur, our Frenchie puppy. 🤦🏻♀️
And Jessie, our farm dog. 🐶
Different dogs. Different personalities. Different stories.
But each one has brought something so incredibly special into our lives.
And I am so grateful for every single one of them.
For the laughter, the adventures, the cuddles, the messes, the vet visits, the medications, the surgeries, the sleepless nights—and all the ordinary days that I didn’t realize at the time would become some of my most precious memories.
I’m grateful that we loved them through every season of their lives—even the difficult final seasons.
Because loving an animal isn’t just about loving them when they’re young, healthy and cute.
Sometimes love means carrying them.
Sometimes it means medications, special care, accidents, cleanup and sleepless nights.
Sometimes it means watching the dog you once knew as a wild little puppy slowly become old and fragile.
And sometimes, the hardest part of loving them is knowing when it’s time to let them go.
Stella, you were stubborn.
Independent.
Crooked.
Stinky.
Hilarious.
And completely, unconditionally loved.
Now you’re on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge with Elvis, Arlo, Otis and Vader.
And I like to think Justin was there waiting for you, too.
I hope he gave you the biggest hug (but just a quick one) and reminded you how much you were loved.
And I hope you found all of your puppy family waiting for you.
Give them all a kiss from me.
Until we meet again, my sweet Crooked Stinky Stella.
