The bond that two animals can achieve is unmatched. It shows that animals can, in fact, grow connections and be attached. I have experienced this firsthand regarding two of my own dogs—Thor, a yellow labrador, and Felix, a rat terrier-dachshund mix. They were best of friends for the precious years they were able to have together. 
Thor came first. My family bought him from a well-known labrador breeder in October of 2017. He became the light of my life, considering I begged my parents to get him and was then deemed “my dog.” Thor has seen me go through middle school, graduate high school, and move out for college. It still brings me so much joy to see him when I visit home, how happy he gets when I walk through the door. It is priceless. 

Felix joined my household in August of 2018. My dad and sister adopted him from the shelter, Felix being shipped from Texas to Sioux City, Iowa, and recovering from mange. I remember him being so timid the night he came home, but when it was time for bed, he curled up with my sister and there was a wave of relief that washed over the room. Felix knew he was home. 

Before Felix came along, Thor had Minnie, a seven-year-old pug at the time, and she was used to being an only dog and was generally cranky 90% of the time. So, Thor was overjoyed to have a friend his age—although a much smaller size—to play with. Thus, Thor and Felix became fast friends. 

It is such a beautiful thing to experience, two animals developing a bond. Even though Thor and Felix weren’t huge cuddlers, the time they spent around each other was enough to see that they were attached at the hip. If one of them left the room, the other followed. If we were playing fetch with one, the other would join. If one of them was in a bad mood, or overly excited, or exhausted, so was the other. It shows just how much their lives were intertwined. 

However, it’s one of those “nothing can last forever” situations. 

Felix got a mast cell tumor removed from his hind leg in January of 2025, and it turned out to be cancerous. At the time, our options were to pay $10,000-12,000 just to see if the cancer had spread anywhere else, or to put his leg through remission which would cost $1,500-2,000 for the initial treatment, and then 15-25 maintenance treatments. 

My family opted for remission, because we felt that taking Felix to get tests done would put him under more stress. Unfortunately, remission was not successful, so we chose to have Felix undergo chemo treatments. The first one didn’t work. Neither did the second. 

On July 28th, 2025, we started the day normally—got ready, ate breakfast. But Thor was anxious. We realized why he was anxious when we couldn’t find Felix. We rang the doorbell, which normally got his attention, and that didn’t work. My mom ended up finding him beneath her and my dad’s bed. 

I had a sinking feeling then. I recalled all the times I read that when animals could feel the end of their life approaching, they would go and hide to save their “pack” from the pain of watching them go. It didn’t help, either, that Felix was unable to keep water down the last 24 hours. I felt so much dread in that moment. 

We took Felix to the vet right away that morning and left him to be treated. Around one p.m. that day, my mom received a call from the vet. The doctor that had been treating Felix from diagnosis to chemo told my mom that Felix’s quality of life had depleted quickly. He said that we had to come and say goodbye. 

Thor could feel that something was wrong. He followed me to the dining room when he felt the emotion in the room shift, and I just held him and sobbed, telling him, “I’m so sorry,” over and over. I just cried more when I heard my sister, who lives 30 minutes from home, say “No, no, no, no” when my dad called her to tell her. 

Before we left for the vet, my younger sister and I grabbed Felix’s favorite blanket and toy. Once there and in the exam room, Felix was brought in and he wagged his tail the moment he saw my mom, sisters, and I. We showered him with love, and you could see in his face that he was just so exhausted. It broke my heart. 

He had to be taken out of the room to be euthanized—the vet couldn’t find a vein—and when he was brought back, wrapped in his blanket, I sat at the table and hugged him, kissing his face and telling him that he was such a good boy. 

I smelled like Felix when I got home. The first thing I did when I walked in the door was to go let Thor out of the kennel and just let him sniff me. He knew. I saw his face drop and he stood there for a moment. He was an only dog for the first time ever, since Minnie passed December of 2024 and now Felix was gone. 

Before Felix’s passing, I never thought I would see a dog go through depression. Plain and simple, that is what happened. Thor was not himself for quite a while. He moped around, slept more than usual, and was generally upset and fussy.  

My family did everything we could to make Thor comfortable and cope with being the “only child.” We put Felix’s pet bed next to Thor’s, and Thor began to put some of his squeaky pig toys in that small bed, then laid there and looked at them for a while. And when we received Felix’s ashes, we let Thor see them and smell them, too. 

Normally, we would send our dogs to “doggy daycare” when we would be gone for long periods of time. We made an exception for Thor and sent him for the weekend that September, and he perked up after coming home. We have done this every few months since. 

Thor has gotten better over time. He’s happier, but has his crabby, old man days now that we have two pug puppies in the house. But when my sisters, parents, and I have conversations about our old dogs, we remember that we can’t say “Felix” anymore. Because every time we do, Thor shoots up and stares at us.  

Thor remembers Felix.