I didn’t grow up with animals.

I never really understood the bond people spoke about when they talked about their pets as members of the family. I would listen politely, but from a distance. I didn’t yet have the language for that kind of love.

Now I do.

This week, we said goodbye to Nouba.

She was our German Shepherd, adopted six years ago. Everything happened so fast.  Internal bleeding emerged suddenly, without warning, and within twenty-four hours she was gone. We were lucky enough to be with her as she was put to sleep. We held her in her final moments. She went as she walked through life, without struggle, protest or drama.

Nouba left us without a murmur.

She taught us something rare. Not obedience though she was the world’s most obedient dog. Not loyalty in the way it’s often described, rather love. The kind that doesn’t ask for explanation, improvement, or performance. The kind that meets you exactly as you are.

She arrived in our lives with a past we would never fully know. Whatever she had witnessed before us stayed unspoken. What she offered was trust. The beautiful kind that emerges slowly, patiently and fully.

Because of her size and her breed, some found her intimidating. Dog walkers would tighten their grip on their leads as they passed. Sometimes folks would cross the road entirely. It always hurt me for her. She was a gentle giant, calm and watchful, never aggressive. I wondered if she sensed that distance, if she knew she was being read through fear rather than met with curiosity.

She loved the rhythm of our days. Walks were her great joy. The moment she sensed one was coming, her body would spring into motion, joy barely contained, barking insistently as if to say we were already late. Hurry up. Let’s go.

Food itself never seemed to interest her much. But treats were another matter entirely. Those were always welcome. A small piece of cheese was received with quiet appreciation, savoured rather than devoured.

For her first year with us, she was shy, watchful, careful with her heart. Then Ebby our young black Labrador arrived and something shifted. Nouba took on the role of protector and watched over her. Guided her. And in moments that mattered, she would follow where Ebby led, even into lakes she clearly didn’t love, allowing herself to be coaxed into the water simply because together felt safer than alone.

Afternoons held their own magic. As if she could tell time, she would wait, alert, ready for our daughter to come home from school. That arrival was worth paying attention to. Worth standing up for.

Watching her through that last day was humbling. As her body weakened, her spirit did not. The suddenness of it all was disorienting. One day she was here, fully herself. The next, we were making decisions we never imagined we’d have to make so quickly. There was no time to prepare. Only time to be present.

When we let her go, it felt both unbearable and peaceful. We were there. She was not alone. That feels like a privilege I will always carry.

Our younger Labrador knows she’s gone. She’s moving differently through the house now. She pauses where she used to lie. She waits. She seems to sense the space she has left behind.

And the house feels different too. The rhythm of our days has shifted and undoubtedly it will continue to. Her absence shows up in small, unexpected moments. In habits that no longer have their counterpart. In a presence that is now memory.

I keep thinking about how often Nouba was misunderstood in the world. Judged by her size before her gentleness could be seen. And I realise that one of the greatest gifts of love is being known for who we truly are, not who others fear us to be. With us, she was always seen. Fully.

Nouba leaves behind more than emptiness. She leaves behind a way of loving.

She showed us that love is quiet. It doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t need recognition. It simply stays. And when it goes, it leaves a space that is unmistakable.

She taught us how to love without needing anything back. How to endure without bitterness. How to be fully present, even when life changes without warning. How to leave this world with the same grace with which we inhabited it.

This week

Reach in: Notice where you’ve experienced love in your life. How did it change you?

Reset: Consider where love has become transactional. What might soften if you removed the conditions?

Reach out: Honour someone  who has loved you faithfully. Speak their name. Let the gratitude land.

Goodbye, Nouba.

Thank you for the walks.

Thank you for the waiting.

Thank you for the protection.

Thank you for the quiet lessons in how to love.