Jellybean danced and bounced her way into our lives and hearts in December 2008, bringing with her an insatiable love of squeak toys, chicken in all forms, cat poo and her fur brother Sparkplug. Whether he was as keen on her as she was on him is debatable!
Jellybean was a fighter – one of two survivors of a litter of five, she was nicknamed GI Jane by her foster family. That’s how tough she was. She was also the happiest little dog you can possibly imagine. We used to call her ‘the perfect puppy-shaped puppy’ because she was like the quintessential cartoon dog – adorable, a little bit naughty and always posing for the camera.
I have a million silly Jellybean stories – like the time we took the dogs on holiday to Phillip Island and Bean decided the water at the beach looked delicious, so she sampled it … many times. Clearly she hoped that if she just ran a few metres along the beach and drank from a different location, the water might taste better. Or the time that she ran out of the back yard toward the road. We were panicking, but even though she could be very silly, Bean knew to ALWAYS sit before crossing a road. So even though she had no lead on, she obediently sat down on the nature strip, looking back at us waiting for the command to cross.
Tragedy struck when our beloved Baby Bean was diagnosed with B-Cell Lymphoma in February 2013 – a death sentence. After 19 chemo treatments and a hell of a fight (as only she could), on February 11 2014 we knew that Beanie was just too tired to fight anymore. The light had gone out of her eyes, and while her tail was still wagging, we didn't want to wait until cancer robbed her of that as well to let her go with dignity. She passed peacefully in our arms with her favourite vet, Dr Clint, present.
Even though it’s been four months, I still miss Beanie more than I can say. She was part of every aspect of my day. In bed at night, she settled immediately next to me. When I got up to use the toilet, she would get up and do the same – it is still unbearably strange to use the loo at night without hearing the dog door open and shut, and seeing her waiting for me to go back to bed, all goofy smile and wagging tail! Hers was always the last face I saw when I left the house and the first one there when I got home.
Bean’s struggle and pain are now over, for which I am grateful, but we are bereft without her happy presence. I am thankful to the universe for bringing her to me, to VicDRG for saving her, to everyone who sent her love, and to our wonderful vets for taking such excellent care of her – particularly Dr Clint Yudelman at Advanced Vetcare in Kensington.
Kate, Mick and Sparkplug