Bella wasn’t just a dog.

She was a guardian, a companion, a heartbeat in the chaos of raising children. She came into our family when my youngest was eight, to be a diabetic alert dog, and from day one she changed everything. As an independent parent outnumbered and exhausted, her keen snout offered a level of reassurance.  Besides, when a kid is being poked, prodded and jabbed by needles more than a dozen times a day—as far as I’m concerned:  you deserve a dog like Bella.

She brought a texture to our family life that we hadn’t known before — warmth, humor, presence. By 2016, when I began working for myself full-time, she and I spent nearly every moment together. And it didn’t take long to see: she was my spiritual familiar. We talked without words. She nudged, warned, and sometimes, in ways only she could, sparked the best ideas.

My days and my business were built around her and my kids. Since 2014, we’d drop the kids at the school bus stop and explore the Pender Harbour forests. When a flock of Roosevelt elk drew a resident wolf pack into the neighborhood in 2016, we moved our walks to the length of Garden Bay Lake. Every morning we walked ourselves awake. She taught me, with every pawstep beside mine, that walking is powerful medicine.

Bella was the first being — the first family member — to offer me unconditional love, every day, without hesitation or reservation, expecting nothing in return. She had so much love, so much joy, that everyone she met felt it. That became crystal clear after her passing, when her fan club revealed themselves: strangers and friends alike, telling me how they still felt her spirit when I walked the lake route alone.

Grief was sharp. Suggestions to get another dog were sharper. I didn’t want another dog. She couldn’t be replaced.

When the nest emptied, I took my now-invisible-dog on the walk of a lifetime. She appeared again and again, in little signs, in quiet moments — and I share those tenderly in my one-woman stage show: 57 Days on Camino Francés.

Even now, Bella is part of my daily life, guiding me. She’s taught me that love never dies. She’s proud of the freedom I’m discovering, the ways I keep moving, and she finds her ways to connect — still, always, exuberantly, joyfully — right here beside me.

“Hey, Belle– want a hug?”

Now imagine her scrambling, taking everyone out at the knees, rushing to get a hug from me, because that’s how she rolled!