An Obituary for Our Sweet Hope

Hope Bonney Turshen 🐶 2013 - 2025

Today’s post is a little different than normal. I’ll be back next week with thoughts/tips/etc. about cooking, but today is for Hope. xo

Hope Bonney Turshen, the most noble and beautiful dog to have ever lived, died on June 28, 2025 surrounded by her family and friends.

Hope earlier this year. Please notice the gentle curl of her left paw.

Hope was the very best of our family. She was cooler and calmer than all of us combined. She was regal. She was gorgeous and unbelievably patient, with both humans and other animals. Whether you were a crawling baby, a stumbling toddler, or a rowdy puppy, you were safe with Hope. The only thing she did not tolerate were feet getting anywhere near her when she was lying down.

Grace has described Hope as the anchor of our home, which is accurate.

Unlike Hope’s sister Winky, her feline brother Leo or her avian brother Papaguy (or us, for that matter), Hope was not a loud creature. Our house is not quieter without her. But it is more weightless. Hope held us all down on the ground. We all feel like we’re floating around a bit these days.

Grace and Hope, in front of a mural that includes the word“Hope,” in 2013 in Brooklyn just a few months after I met both of them.

I’ve shared a bit about Hope’s life here before (see here), which includes a bit about the beginning of her life and how she came into Grace’s and then mine.

about our dogs

None of us who knew and loved Hope witnessed her entering this world, which happened sometime in early 2013 in Puerto Rico, but there was surely a seismic shift upon her arrival. How could there not have been?

There was another seismic shift this past Saturday when we released her from her mortal, tired body.

If it can be called such, and I think it can, Hope’s death was beautiful. Grace and I carried the burden of the decision so Hope didn’t have to. Liz, Hope’s doctor and our very dear friend, facilitated Hope’s peaceful departure (among the many blessings Hope brought us, one is our friendship with Liz and her wife Anne).

In the hours between making the decision to let Hope go and actually letting her go, for the first time in Hope’s life, she declined both vanilla ice cream and whipped cream. We always said that the day Hope didn’t eat whipped cream would be the day. “That’s all we need to know,” I said to Grace when I rinsed the bowl out in the sink.

Hope died in one of her favorite spots in our backyard. The sun was shining and everything got quiet the moment she left this realm. Her death was followed by a gentle breeze.

Later in the day, I laid down in the same spot and so did Grace and we looked at what Hope looked at during her final moments. From where she was, Hope could see her favorite catalpa tree, the one she sat under for countless hours during her life, and the container garden Grace has worked on for years, filled with dozens of types of flowers and plants, a haven for bees and birds. A safe place for all animals.

Hope in front of her favorite catalpa tree last year (Winky is under the hammock).

She was perfect. And yes, her ears felt like silk.

Hope, Leo and Winky sharing their favorite window.

The view from the other side of that window. She kept watch for us all.

Enjoying the sun this spring.

Loving Hope was the easiest thing in the world. Missing her is harder. But knowing her and taking care of her and living with her and seeing her every single day and just being with her made us the luckiest people in the world. If our heartache is the price we pay for that privilege, so be it. Rest easy our sweet Hope. We love you so much. ❤️‍🩹