This Friday’s Soft Nudge is dedicated to Magnus, and to those we love and miss.
Last Thursday morning, the dog of my heart, Magnus, unexpectedly left this world.
The suddenness was a shock, and at times, it still feels unreal.
The afternoon before, he had been doing all the things he loved: having treat time during coffee, even going on an evening walk. It had been exceptionally hot outside though, and noticing how slow he was walking, when we got home we took a shower together to cool down. Shortly after this, he started showing symptoms of a flare-up of Addison’s Disease — a chronic condition we’d been managing, with hormones and electrolytes, for years. By evening, he didn’t want to eat his dinner or drink water, and he looked really uncomfortable.
He’d had an episode like this just over a month ago, when we gave him extra medication, and by the next morning he had rebounded. We’ve been through multiple Addison’s crises over the years; all had given us enough time to respond. This time, he went downhill too quickly, and we didn’t register the severity of his situation until it was too late. His little heart just stopped.
Dancing Dog
We first met Magnus at Milo Dog Rescue in Richmond, CA. I’d never had a dog before, but I was being nudged by a maternal instinct to find him. I told John I had received a psychic image of a dog who was “like a circus dog.” I also knew John had a deep affection for Irish Wolfhounds, which he’d owned before (way too big for me). At that time, John was on the fence about dogs altogether — because dogs eventually die, and he had been through this many times.
When I saw eight-month-old Magnus that day, not only did he resemble a miniature wolfhound (which I knew would win John over 100%), but when we took him into the little “get to know you” room at the shelter, he actually got up on his hind legs, twirled, and did a little circus dog dance!
That was the sign I needed.
Then, he jumped up on my lap and acted like he belonged there. He did.
Adoption day: Magnus at the Milo Foundation, on that day he danced for me.
Will I Choose Fear or Love?
Over the years, we’ve been through many health crises, Magnus and I.
In 2015, he was diagnosed with Addison’s — a condition of not making enough steroid hormone. Cortisol is a good thing, and when you don’t make enough of it, it can be deadly. We learned that then, when we almost lost him. The vet said his potassium levels were so low that his heart should’ve failed. They were surprised he was still alive, and for a while we didn’t know if he would make it.
I recall sitting next to my small, sick boy and being utterly terrified. Then I had an unforgettable moment. I thought: Well, if these are my last hours with Magnus, do I want to experience them going out of my mind with fear, or full of love? Fear takes me away from the present moment, and from the love that Magnus was, and still is. So I chose love.
With that decision, my heart expanded. I was able to be present to all of it: the fear and the love, and then to intentionally embody love — with, and for, him. For two weeks after, I would feel overcome with love in seemingly random situations (like while grocery shopping).
I feel that dogs have the purest, most innocent hearts. I always loved kissing Magnus’ heart, and thanking him aloud for his.
This love-to-fear practice is in my Intuitive Energy Divination Deck (pictured)
Angelic Self-Compassion
When we moved to Hawaii in 2018, we Shepherds began to live our “best lives” yet.
So did Magnus. He seemed to love the moderate weather and our tropical Hawaii house. We took rainforest walks and beach trips. He wasn’t a huge fan of swimming, but we didn’t discover that until after his second health crisis.
One day in 2018, Magnus’ hind legs stopped working. I ran him to our vet, who had no answers. That evening we took him to the equivalent of the animal ER. An x-ray showed a bulging disc in his spine, requiring an emergency laminectomy. The prognosis again was not good. If he survived, they said he would likely be paralyzed.
I was shattered. Healing Magnus became my entire life for the next six weeks. I have many pictures of him from the years, but only one from that period when we didn’t know if he would walk again. I cried constantly. It was so damn sad.
And that was when Magnus taught me the power of self-compassion. I allowed myself to fall apart, totally. I allowed myself to wail, bemoan our fates, and eat way too many homemade blueberry pies (courtesy of our neighbor at the time, an amazing baker and friend to Magnus).
When I connected with my teacher then, she said the level of self-compassion I was showing myself was “angelic.” I’ll never forget her saying that. I wouldn’t have recognized it otherwise, but having experienced it since, I understand: allowing oneself to feel the full range of an “emotional hell” is purifying, loving.
Not allowing pain to shut you down or harden you… but letting fear, grief, sadness, devastation, dedication, love, confusion, and misery all flow through is the ultimate self-compassion.
Week by week, Magnus slowly recovered his ability to walk. We were told that swimming would help rehabilitate him, so we bought him a little shark floatie. We called him shark-cutie. Turns out, he loved the beach but was not a fan of the water — he doggie paddled himself all the way back to shore.
Magnus as shark-cutie. "Mom...do I hafta go into the water?"
What Magnus Taught Me
Through our many health crises together, Magnus reminded me that it is impossible to be in love and in fear at the same time, and that it can be a choice.
He showed me that allowing tears, sadness, and confusion to flow freely — to let grief and pain utterly level you — is a form of loving-kindness.
And he showed me the joy of companionship.
I never knew that having a boy like Magnus would mean having a second shadow — a constant companion who was always up for a walk, hike, treat, or playtime, and who would never (not willingly) leave my side.
In the days since he passed, we’ve asked ourselves why this crisis was so different, so final. Grief is messy and strange. Sometimes you try to understand, and other times it feels senseless. What happened this time… ultimately makes no difference. He’s gone, and I’m sorry — for all of us who loved him.
Me and my buddy, the dog of my heart. Best friends, forever.
Soft Nudge Invitation
✨ This week, when faced with fear or uncertainty, try asking yourself: What would it feel like to choose love instead? Let that guide you, even in small ways.
Thanks for sharing this, Jessica ❤️
I loved reading the history of your love with Magnus. Thank you for sharing this. I love you and share your grief. You were the best dog mom ever. He was the absolute sweetest and most loving dog and I enjoyed every minute with him.