Anna penned an essay for Elle back in June. She wrote, “She never let me out of her sight.” Anna’s words painted a vivid picture of a vigilant guardian, always watching. The object of this intense scrutiny was Anna herself.
The guardian in question was not a person, but a beloved pet. Anna described a shift in her pet’s behavior. Where once her pet’s protective instincts sparked a primal rage, now they were driven by a profound love. It was the deepest kind of love Anna had ever known.
Anna’s pet was a dog named Petunia. She was a constant presence in Anna’s life, through thick and thin. Petunia was there for Anna during her marriage, four moves, graduate school, and even a couple of career changes. She was there during Anna’s mental health crisis, her divorce, and her subsequent reinvention.
In Petunia’s final moments, Anna poured out her heart. She told Petunia how much she appreciated her love and companionship. Anna made a promise to Petunia. She said, “I was okay and that I would be okay without her.” She admitted she would be crushed, lonely, but okay.
Anna expressed her gratitude to Petunia. She thanked her for standing guard, for staying with her. She thanked Petunia for being there until Anna was strong enough to survive without her.
