Elle était ma première

She was my first

Arev was an American Staffordshire rescue.

We got her when she was just a puppy. She was sick and mistreated.

She has lived her whole life being labelled as dangerous – people feared her, or rather, feared her breed. Truth is she could never hurt a fly.

She was the perfect goofy and playful dog when she was younger. She then turned into a very chill old lady as the years went by.

As your pet gets older, you start to realize you may not have that many years left with them.

We thought Arev would cross the bridge much earlier than she actually did. She proved us wrong, so many times.

And then the time comes, time for hard decisions, time for goodbyes, time for loss, time for grief.

Losing a dog leaves a strange sentiment, a hard mixture of monstrous void, everlasting sadness and let’s face it, lots of tears.

It took me a while, personally, to cope with the fact that she was gone. What brought me comfort was to realize she had lived a full, loving life among us, and that it was time for her to go when she did.

Everybody has its own way to grieve. Whether it includes reminiscing the past, looking at old pictures or watching videos, or already expecting to welcome your next pet.

Grief comes in different shapes and forms; it goes away with time but you never forget. One never forgets their firsts.

She was 15 years old; she was my first dog; she was the first to go.

Arev (2005-2020)



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