Pure.
Pure love.
Pure joy.
Pure perfection.
Pure giving of everything she had.

Pixie came into our lives in 2014, when we lived in Louisville, Kentucky. We first saw her in photos, about a year old, curled up in her foster mom Jennifer’s lap with three hot pink casts on her legs. The moment we saw her and read her story, we knew we had to meet her.

Pixie across Jennifer her foster mom's lap outdoors, wearing bright pink patterned casts on her front and back legs.
The first photo we ever saw of Pixie before we adopted her.

After her legs healed, we set a time for her to come over. We fell in love immediately.

Pixie was both friendly and timid. She loved to run fast and she was generous with her licks. When she wanted affection, she had a signature move: she would gently flop onto her back, belly up, paws in the air, like she was saying, “I trust you.” Full surrender. Full heart.

She lived like every person was a friend she hadn’t met yet.

Waylan sits on a carpet in a skeleton costume, smiling with Pixie lying in his lap; a dog crate and a soccer ball toy are in the background.
Pixie fit right in with the family.
Pixie lies on her back in the grass with one paw raised while Scott scratches her chest.
Her love language was trust.

A life that ran alongside ours

Pixie wasn’t just with us. She was part of how we lived.

She crossed state lines with us from Kentucky to North Carolina. She helped keep us steady during the COVID pandemic. She hunkered down with us in our basement in Asheville during Hurricane Helene. She was with us through marriage and the normal ups and downs of family life.

Description of the image
Photobooth pictures of Pixie, Josie and I from Louisville, KY.

She was by Josie’s side as she studied and earned her esthetics license. She watched Waylan grow from a boy into a young man. In all of it, Pixie was constant. A presence you could feel in the room, even when she was asleep.

When things changed

In late October 2025, Pixie had a health episode that sent us to the emergency vet until 3 a.m. She was extremely lethargic. She had no appetite. Her gums and tongue were pale, and her breathing didn’t look right.

Pixie sleeps on her side in a close-up shot, her face relaxed against a green-and-white textured blanket.
Pixie resting on an afghan on the sofa.

With medication and rest, she started eating again and some energy came back. But she never fully returned to her normal self after that.

By mid December, she lost interest in her regular food. She slept more. Our daily mile walks became too much. She was losing weight and strength. We tried soft food and home cooked meals, which helped a little, but we could tell something deeper was going on.

Bloodwork showed signs that her body was under stress. We were living in that strange in between place where you are grateful for each normal moment, while watching the overall direction of things.

New Year’s Eve

On December 31, 2025, imaging revealed a mass on her spleen. Because of its size and instability, the vet told us to prepare for her transition.

She was on borrowed time and we were living in the in between.

We knew she wasn’t well, but the news still hit like a collapse. Shock, grief, disbelief, and that helpless feeling of wanting to bargain with reality.

The best days, right at the end

From New Year’s Eve to January 3, we took Pixie to the farm every day.

Down by the creek. Through the woods. Along the river.

Scott stands on the river’s edge holding a water bottle while Pixie, a white-and-brown dog, sniffs the ground; a broad, rocky river flows past leafless trees under a bright winter sky.
Pixie and I standing on the river’s edge on her last day.

For about an hour each day, she became a different dog. She trotted and explored and inhaled the world. Tail wagging. Smiling into the sunlight. Leading the pack. Turning back to make sure nobody was left behind.

Pixie, a white-and-brown dog, walks along a grassy hillside with dry orange brush in the foreground and distant blue mountains under a cloudy winter sky.
Pixie enjoyed her last few days over at the farm.

On those walks, we found what we can only describe as spirit signs. On our last day, we found an incredible hawk feather, and we saw a bald eagle over the river. We choose to believe those were her guides, showing her the way back to nature and offering strength, courage, freedom, vision, guardianship, and clarity.

A close-up of a brown-and-white striped feather resting on a rough, sparkling crystal-covered rock on a wooden tabletop.
A sign we will never forget.

She inhaled the world like she was trying to keep it.

When she wasn’t out there with us, she rested at home. We gave her all the treats. Waylan brought her a hamburger and a pup cup. Josie made Pixie her own pot roast dinner. Near the end, we were simply trying to get her to eat anything, because her hunger was barely there.

Goodbye, with love

Pixie rejoined the universe on January 3, 2026, as the sun was setting.

She passed peacefully at home with in home euthanasia, surrounded by love.

A cozy corner nook with a gray dog bed holding four plush toys arranged in a row; above it, a small round table holds a lit candle surrounded by crystals, casting warm light on the white paneled walls.
Our memorial altar for Pixie.

Her presence is everywhere.

She greeted us in the mornings while we drank coffee in bed. She curled up beside us every night. Now I keep expecting to see her, or hear the jangle of her collar, or feel that gentle question in her eyes that meant one thing. Walk?

We are heartbroken. We will be mourning her for a long time.

I will see you at the rainbow bridge one day, sweet girl.