Grief, guidance, and a little black & tan dog: A personal chapter from Tarot and Tea with Jo

The life of Daisy: A whirlwind of destruction, joy and love

14/08/2025

Daisy the Dachshund. She is the reason we’ve been a little quiet over here at Tarot and Tea with Jo. We lost someone who was a part of our every day, every hour, every minute. From sitting on my lap while I worked 9–5, to trotting around after me step by step, ruling the roost. To have that suddenly leave creates a gaping hole that can’t quite be explained.

What hit the hardest was the grief. I never expected to feel grief this deep. I’ve never felt anything like it before, even with the humans I’ve lost in my life. Which in itself brings guilt; how can I possibly feel more grief for a little dog than for actual people?

But I think it’s because she was there. Every second of every day.

The weight of grief

It’s been 6 weeks since she passed away as I write this (13 weeks as I post this). The grief still lives with me daily. I feel like I want to crumble, curl up and cry, go to bed and sleep it off until the next wave hits again. But unfortunately, for those of us left behind, life carries on.

I have two businesses to run. I’m a marketing specialist by day, and a tarot reader in every other pocket of time. I’m also a mum to a toddler, and a mum to the baby currently growing inside me. And, of course, still a dog mum to my first boy, Dexter.

Life can’t just stop anymore. Sometimes I envy my 18-year-old self who had no responsibilities, though I didn’t realise it at the time. She could have stayed in bed all day, grieved in her own way and in her own time. But would that have been harder in the long run? Does carrying on with day-to-day life make it easier? I’m not sure.

Finding Daisy

Daisy was our trouble child, to name her lightly. We had Dexter first, the most perfect pup you could imagine. After a year, we felt he could really do with a friend; and in walked Daisy.

She was never supposed to be ours. We were due to collect another dachshund, one we’d arranged to visit after work, but at 3pm that day, they told us she’d been sold. We were devastated. The next day, I was at work scrolling for another dog, and there she was. I remember the photo. You could barely see her, a blur of puppy fluff. That should have been our first clue.

But I insisted we had to see her. That evening, we travelled from Leeds to Peterborough. When we arrived, it was clear this was not the same situation we’d experienced with Dexter. There were no parents to meet, she was hiding under a sofa, cowering from a toddler who was throwing toys at her.

She was terrified. All I could think was, we need to get her out of here now. I sent my husband to the cash machine while I refused to leave her side. I had a deep, inexplicable knowing - if we left without her, something terrible would happen.

A rough start and a fierce spirit

Once home, we slowly pieced together the story of Daisy’s early life. Her microchip was Irish. She had a healed broken rib that stuck out to the side. We’d heard of puppy farms breeding dogs outside the UK and shipping them in and we believe Daisy was one of those dogs. Fighting for survival with other puppies, dumped in that Peterborough house, waiting for someone to come.

Despite it all, she bonded with Dexter almost instantly (though he was a bit unsure!). But she didn’t like outsiders. People, dogs; it didn’t matter. Her mentality was, “everyone is the enemy”.

This was a huge adjustment for us. But we adapted. I’m honestly glad we didn’t have children at the time, I don’t think we could’ve managed it all.

She was the smartest dog you would ever meet.

When we left her at home, she’d terrorise upstairs. We added a baby gate to the stairs & so she dug a hole in the carpet instead. We moved the dogs to the kitchen & so she jumped up and opened the kitchen door. (Yes, a miniature dachshund, opening a door!)

We added a gate to the kitchen door & so she learned to jump onto it, using her body as a seesaw to get over. We had to set up a dog camera just to figure out how she kept escaping. She always outsmarted us, at every turn.

Eventually, we just rode the wave. By 18–24 months, she started to calm a little, by then, we were completely in love with her. She was a unique little sausage; stubborn, hilarious and brilliant.

A decade of love and chaos

Those next years were a beautiful chaos. True to dachshund form, she refused to go out in the rain and would pee on the floor out of choice. She once got into a cupboard and poured an entire bag of flour over herself.

She was fast, I swear she reached 20 mph, and she climbed Pen y Ghent off-lead, goat-like, while we carried Dexter. Her brain, her boldness, it was something else.

In her later years, Daisy became even more attached to me. Covid gave us permanent work-from-home life, and Daisy was in her element. Every waking moment by my side.

When I got pregnant, her attachment only grew. And when our son was born, she was his companion, protector and playmate. His first word was “Daisy”. Even now, he says she’s his best friend. They had a soul bond, deep and beautiful.

The final chapter

Then things changed. She stopped wanting walks. We’d carry her or place her in the pram. She started shaking, getting lost, seeming confused.

In October 2024, she had what we believe to be a stroke. The vet advised us to say goodbye. The vet wasn't working the next day, so we arranged for Daisy to be euthanised the day after, on the Friday.

On Friday, the vet was stunned, our little pup had made what seemed to be a full recovery. She agreed to manage Daisy’s condition with medication and pain relief.

That fiery spirit, that sheer stubborn will, I believe it gave Daisy another seven months. We had one more Christmas. Her 10th birthday, Dexter’s 11th, our son’s third, all with her by our side.

But her condition slowly worsened. Her quality of life would shift, day by day. One day she seemed well, the next day not at all. Eventually, we made the hardest decision, euthanasia, at home, in our garden.

When the grief comes in waves

The pain of making that decision, following through, and then waking up the next day, it’s unbearable. Those who have lived through it will understand. Those who know this day is coming for them one day, can only dread it.

There is nothing I can say to make it easier. Nothing I can do to bring her back.

We all know the saying, dogs are only part of our lives, but to them, we are their whole life. And I know we gave Daisy an amazing one. Full of mischief, joy and love. Daisy taught me patience like no other, something I now use daily with our son. And her love for him was the cherry on top of her time with us.

A presence that still lingers

I still feel her, the shape of her in my arms, her curly fluff pressed against my side. I still look for her when I walk into the bathroom, I still cuddle the memory of her in bed at night.

When I call in my ancestors to join me; Daisy trots in too. Looking at me with those deep brown eyes, a presence that will never really leave.

The shape grief takes

Grief is impossible to define and even harder to navigate. It’s confusing, overwhelming, relentless. Some days I manage. Some days I don’t. I wonder if we ever truly recover.

So no, this blog isn’t really about tarot. Not this time. It’s about life, love, and loss. It’s about a little black & tan dog who took over our hearts and still holds a piece.

I’ll keep creating and sharing on my socials, but it’s slower right now. I’m taking it steady. Breathing in the sunshine. Watching the flowers. Noticing the daisies.

And in every moment of silence, in every corner of our home, I still feel her love.