Millie Beachy Druckenmiller (Née Neely) crossed the rainbow bridge peacefully on July 22, 2023, in the comfort of her own home, surrounded by her favorite people. She was showered with love and food right up until the end, including a final snack of hot dogs (naturally), string cheese and Reese’s Peanut Butter cups.

Millie entered our lives like a bull in a china shop in 2014, after being rescued from the throes of a backyard breeder situation in Ohio. And she left the world this past Saturday with just as much mental acuity and curiosity as when she entered. Unfortunately, her physical body had begun to fail her and after a diagnosis of Degenerative Myelopathy right after the new year, the decline of the use of her back legs began. We gave her the best ~7 months we possibly could and tried not to let the disease define her or slow her down. But she let us know, in her own way, that she was tired, and it was time.

Millie was my copilot in life for 9 ½ years. Sometimes I was the driver, sometimes she was. It just depended on the day and who needed who more for support. She really came into her own after the first year of her life post-rescue, in Chicago. But it wasn’t without hardships. She was diagnosed with a wicked Autoimmune disorder less than 48 hours after her adoption, which led to her nearly bleeding out on the table during what was to have been a “general wellness exam.” We’ll never know if the disease (ITP) was previously undetected or perhaps just swept under the rug by the organization we adopted her from. But it didn’t matter, and we were already committed to this girl, even from day #1. It took a LOT of specialized medical treatment, a LOT of drug therapy, a LOT of transfusions, a LOT of patience, a LOT of credit cards, and most importantly, a LOT of love. Slowly, but surely, over the course of that first year, we were able to get her into remission, and thankfully through ongoing monitoring and medication, she stayed in remission for the rest of her life.

We had the best of times – the city was her oyster, just as it was mine. She got to eat everything I ate, which included near weekly pitstops at The Wieners Circle when we were living in Lincoln Park, followed by a walk to the park to enjoy our hot dogs (steamed and plain for her, charred and drug threw the garden for me) and to watch the world go by. But her most favorite place in the city was Montrose Dog Beach, Chicago’s dog friendly beach on Lake Michigan, which at one point in time, was also a walkable, frequent destination for she and I. It’s where she learned how to swim and socialize with other dogs (read: chase and terrorize entirely too many dogs). And of course, the walk home almost always included a pitstop at a hot dog cart for both of us. During those couple of years, she quickly became a regular on the patio at The Dock and at George Street Pub, where she was pretty well known, pretty well loved and pretty well fed. A common theme in her life is that she never went hungry, although you’d never know it based on her non-stop begging for the food off your plate.

By late fall of 2018 and several life changes, we collectively packed up our belongings and made the trek to Connecticut. She slept approximately 10.5 out of the 11-hour drive, arrived at her new home, quickly surveyed the land and instantly decided it was most definitely hers. The first renovation tackled was the installation of a fence, and it took no less than 5 minutes post-install for Millie to quickly declare herself the Queen of her Connecticut Castle, and that’s a title she kept right up until the end. When she transitioned to Connecticut, she quickly fell in love with the kids and claimed them as her own. Just as they claimed her, too. We got along well – the transition was smooth. Smoother than anyone could have ever hoped for. She loved the extra attention, the extra siblings, the extra food, and she was taken care of, collectively, by all of us.

Millie loved just about everything and everyone in life, but there were three things that were at the top of her list – pillows, the wind in her ears and food (specifically whatever was on YOUR plate). She was not shy and got along with nearly everyone, but she was a busy body and often overwhelmed other dogs. In the Summer of 2020, we bought a boat and took her for her first spin on the water, only to quickly realize we no longer owned a boat. Millie did. The same thing went for just about everything in our lives. The cars weren’t ours; they were hers. Full of drool and hair and as many possible windows down, doggles on, ears flapping in the wind rides that were humanly possible. 

As she started to age, we had a lot of conversations about bringing another rescue into our home. But with Millie and her high energy, it had to be the right breed. We couldn’t have two Millies – it simply wouldn’t work (for our sanity’s sake!). And with that, we found Yankee Golden Retriever Rescue, and Molly quickly came into our lives. Another special needs dog that needed to be exposed to the world and needed a lot of love, kindness and caring. We took Millie up to Massachusetts to do the meet and greet and they were instantly side by side from that day forward. Same size, same stature, same rhythms, same motions.

We brought Molly home a week later and can’t really remember what it was like without two dogs. They bonded quickly and easily. I wouldn’t say in the way that they instantly loved each other. But they instantly found ways in which they complimented one another. Millie was Molly’s confidence building dog – she was her eyes and ears in life. Molly had not experienced anything outside of a breeder’s kennel for the first five years of her life. And Millie, at this point, had basically seen the world. That said, Molly was Millie’s calming agent. She was great for a couch nap, a cuddle, another pillow (specifically Molly’s butt) and they found ways to play. They figured it out, collectively, together. We’re not quite sure yet how Molly will recover from the loss of her sister, but we know it’s not just a loss for us, but a big loss for her, too, and potentially for her confidence. We have a lot of work ahead of us and are focused on finding ways to help soften the void that Millie leaves behind for all of us.

I’m fairly confident that if you look up the definition of “Velcro Dog” on the web, you’ll find a picture of Millie’s smiling mug. There was no stronger Velcro than that of Millie. She was literally my constant shadow. I was her person, and she was mine. She loved everyone, but it was specifically me she had her sights set on. Toward the end, I couldn’t leave the room – she had to be with me. Which meant carrying her a lot of places for the last few months (no small feat for a smallish person and a largeish dog).

When you adopt a dog, you know the ending is inevitable, but you typically don’t know when or how that ending will come, and you still can’t quite surmise exactly how you’ll feel when they do leave this world. So, for now, we’re a bit shattered, a bit broken, but we’re so very grateful for the time we got to spend with her. She made a lasting impact on us and although she wasn’t the first dog to steal our hearts, and she won’t be the last, she will always be completely one of a kind. There will never be another Millie.

I’m grateful to Brian for agreeing to my crazy antics back in that winter of 2014, and for saying “yes” to bringing home a random dog I found online two states away – a dog that we virtually knew nothing about and ended up nearly breaking our bank accounts with her endless medical needs that first year of her life with us. And for his willingness to let her stay with me as our lives followed different pathways a few years later.

And I’m so grateful for Gary, Ryan, Grace and our extended network of Connecticut friends that are like family, who welcomed both Mille and me into their lives with open arms. I have no doubt that Millie left a lasting impact on many people, along with a permanent imprint on my heart. 

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