09/06/2025
I’ve been avoiding writing this because putting it into words makes it feel too final. But on Monday, September 1st, just one week after Indy passed, my sweet Haven let me know it was time to set her free.
That morning she didn’t want to get up. Even if I tried to support her and help her stand, she’d immediately lie back down. I was able to get her to potty and get some water, but throughout the day she just wanted to rest. Then, she refused food. For Haven, who never turned down a meal in her entire life, that was the clearest sign. People say, “they’ll tell you when it’s time,” and while that isn’t always true, with her it was.
I had been fighting for her, ordering supplements, trying every option I could find, clinging to stories of dogs beating lymphoma with prednisone or other therapies. But her cancer was aggressive, and looking back, I realize the signs had been there since June when we went to the vet. I’ll always regret the timing of that rabies vaccine that visit, not because I think it caused her cancer, but because I think it sped things up and stole precious time from us.
Haven was my girl from my very first litter. She was the last to arrive, born into my hands after hours of waiting and worrying. I was terrified she wouldn’t survive (I was silly and overly dramatic), and when she came out perfect, I cried tears of joy.
Over the years she grew into a beauty, but it was her role as a mother that defined her. Haven was legendary. No puppy was ever left behind. If one wandered, she’d bring it back to the milk bar herself. She allowed her babies to nurse right up until the day they left us, and more often than not, she’d choose to sleep right in the pen with them, surrounded by a pile of warm puppies. Her instincts were so strong that she even “adopted” four puppies from another mother, instantly integrating them into her litter of 4 and treating them as her own. Being a mom was her greatest joy, her life’s purpose. When retirement came, she mourned deeply, pacing at the sound of other litters crying as if to say, “No one raises babies like I do" as she glared at me in outrage. She was right, no one ever has, and no one ever will.
When the time came, I was blessed with the most compassionate vet, Dr. Dawnetta Woodruff, who left her family dinner to come help Haven pass peacefully. I’ll never ever be able to thank her enough for all the times she's been there for us in our time of need.
We said goodbye on a blanket I had saved from Havok’s passing. Haven sniffed it thoroughly, and I believe she smelled her dad. When I handed her Havok’s old chuck-it ball, she proudly stole it, squishing the air out of it over and over, satisfied she had finally gotten away with something he never would have allowed. It felt like her last little victory.
We gave her ribeye steak, and she enjoyed every bite. I told her how much she meant to me, to us, and to everyone who has one of her puppies. I asked her to tell Havok, Indy, Lexi, Buck, and her brother Argo that we love them. And I told her to tell her dad she stole his ball. Then she drifted off peacefully, my brave and beautiful girl.
It’s strange to have a house full of dogs and still feel like it's not "home" anymore. Losing Havok, Indy, and now Haven in such a short span has left me devastated. Haven wasn’t just another dog, she was my cuddle buddy when Kevin traveled, the one who broke the “no dogs on the bed” rule, my buddy. The loss of their steady companionship is unbearable.
But I hold on to their legacy in their children. Hype, Havok’s son, and Star, Haven’s daughter, are with us, carrying pieces of the two dogs who shaped so much of our lives!❤️🩹
If you’ve read this far, thank you. Haven deserved a proper tribute. She was one in a million, and she will be loved and missed forever.
