The Pets Who Carry Pieces of Our Lives

Snowball, Bentley, Ruby and Chloe—and why goodbye never really means letting go

There Are Pets You Own—and Pets Who Become Part of Your Story

There are pets you own.

And then there are pets who somehow become part of the story of your life.

For Clara and me, that was our dogs Snowball and Ruby, along with our dear friends’ dogs Bentley and Chloe. Over the years, each of them became woven into our life together in a different way.

When I look at the four of them together now, I don't just see dogs. I see people. I see places. I see different periods of my life. I see my sister. I see friends. I see my family. And I see some of the happiest days—and some of the hardest goodbyes—I've ever experienced.

That's the thing about our pets. They don't know they're becoming part of your history while it's happening.

They're just there.

Waiting at the door. Following you through the house. Lying beside you. Looking at you like you're the most important person in the world.

And then one day, years later, you realize how much of your life they were carrying with them.

Snowball: A Last Connection to My Sister

Snowball was a beautiful yellow Lab and my sister's service dog.

When my sister died in 2016, there was already an understanding that Snowball would go to one of my sister's close friends in Port Charlotte, Florida. I believe it may even have been written into her wishes.

But something inside me kept telling me I wanted Snowball with us.

I didn't want to disrespect my sister's wishes, and I certainly wasn't going to simply take her. So I went to her friend and had the conversation.

What I didn't know was that he and his wife had been struggling with the situation themselves. They already had a dog—possibly two—and one had significant health problems. They cared about Snowball and wanted to do the right thing, but taking responsibility for another dog was weighing on them.

He was a man of faith, as I am, and we prayed about it.

Eventually, we agreed that Snowball should come home with me.

I still believe it was the right decision.

I brought her back to California on the airplane wearing her service-animal vest.

And when we arrived home, I took that vest off.

She never wore it again.

I still have it.

Her working life was over. She had spent years taking care of my sister.

Now it was our turn to take care of Snowball.

And maybe there was another reason I needed her with me.

After losing my sister, Snowball was still a living connection to her. She had been beside my sister. She knew her routines. She had shared a life with her that I couldn't get back.

Having Snowball with me felt, in some small way, like still having a piece of my sister nearby.

That made the day we eventually had to say goodbye to Snowball especially difficult.

We let her go peacefully at home.

It was the right thing to do for her.

But right doesn't mean easy.

I wasn't only saying goodbye to a dog I loved. Somewhere inside me, I think I knew I was also saying goodbye to one of the last living connections I had to that part of my sister's life.

That hurt.

Ruby: Our Little Girl

And then there was Ruby.

Our little gray-and-white Shih Tzu girl.

Some dogs love everybody. Some dogs are family dogs. And then occasionally there's one who seems to decide:

You're my person.

Ruby was that kind of dog for me.

She wasn't an accessory to our family. She wasn't simply a pet living in our house.

She was our girl.

Anyone who has had that kind of relationship with an animal knows exactly what I mean. You develop your own language. You recognize a look. You know what they want before they do anything. They know when you're happy, when something's wrong, and when you just need somebody sitting next to you without saying a damn word.

Dogs are pretty good at that last one.

Humans could learn something from them.

Ruby eventually had to leave us too.

And we still have her things.

Some people might wonder why we keep those things after they're gone.

I don't.

A collar isn't just a collar anymore.

A toy isn't just a toy.

Snowball's service vest isn't just a vest.

They're little physical reminders that say:

She was here. She mattered. We loved her.

Bentley and Chloe: Part of the Family Too

Bentley and Chloe belonged to our friends, but they were part of Ruby's world—and therefore part of ours.

Bentley was Ruby's sibling, and Chloe was Bentley's sister and another one of Ruby's buddies.

Watching dogs build relationships of their own is funny because nobody has to explain anything to them. They don't care whose name is on the veterinarian paperwork.

They know their people.

They know their friends.

They know their family.

And somehow they know when they belong.

That's what I see when I look at Snowball, Bentley, Ruby and Chloe together.

Four dogs.

Four personalities.

Four stories intertwined with ours.

Why We Keep Letting Them Into Our Hearts

There's an unfair bargain we make when we love a pet.

Most of us know from the beginning that we're probably going to outlive them.

We know there's likely to be a terrible day waiting somewhere down the road.

And we do it anyway.

Because everything between the first day and the last day is worth it.

The greetings at the door.

The ridiculous habits.

The walks.

The naps.

The toys scattered everywhere.

The vacations and car rides.

The quiet moments nobody photographs.

The unconditional trust.

And eventually, if we're fortunate enough to be there for them through an entire lifetime, the responsibility of recognizing when our job has changed.

At the beginning, our job is to give them a good life.

Sometimes, at the end, our final job is to give them a peaceful goodbye.

We had to do that.

It's one of the hardest acts of love there is.

They Never Completely Leave

I believe Snowball and Ruby are in heaven.

That's part of my faith, and it brings me comfort.

But even here, they're not completely gone.

They're in photographs.

They're in the things we've saved.

They're in stories Clara and I can tell.

They're in memories that appear unexpectedly and make you smile—or occasionally hit you hard enough that you have to sit with them for a minute.

And now they're part of something else I'm building.

When people visit Pets & Animal Stories on Chris Triana Official, they'll see four dogs sitting together:

Snowball.

Bentley.

Ruby.

Chloe.

To most visitors, they'll simply look like four beautiful dogs welcoming them to a page about animals.

But I'll know differently.

I'll know who they are.

I'll know the people they're connected to.

I'll know the lives behind those faces.

And I'll know why they're there.

Because pets really do leave paw prints on our hearts forever.

And sometimes, if we're lucky, they carry pieces of the people we love with them too.