Today marks exactly five years since the worst kind of heartbreak any dog mom can go through.
Five years since I said goodbye to Dymond—my best friend, my once-in-a-lifetime dog, and the reason behind everything I’ve built since.
His passing changed my life. So did his story.
If you’ve been around a while, you probably remember his Instagram, whaddupitsdymond. I used to joke we’d end up on The Ellen Show one day because he was just that kind of dog. He had this energy—goofy, gentle, chaotic in the most lovable way—and I felt this overwhelming need to share him with the world. And I did. Between my roomate, boyfriend, the cat Peanut, and millions of others around the world, he had his own little fan club.
What I didn’t know back then was that his story would become the reason I started a dog jammie business in his name, launched a blog to help others understand what it really means to own a giant breed, and share my life story with millions of dog owners around the world.
But before all of that, it was just me and him.
It was June 2020, finals week during nursing school. I was in my room studying when my roommate convinced me we needed a break. We packed up our stuff, grabbed Dymond (who loved swimming), and drove out to Cherry Creek Reservoir for a quick reset. After being told to move by a park ranger, we ended up on a super crowded beach. I didn’t love it, but figured we’d make the most of it.
We were only there for a few minutes when a pitbull came charging from a group of people, dragging his leash. At first it seemed like a normal sniff-and-circle interaction. I let go of Dymond’s leash, thinking they’d sort it out.
But the pitbull lunged—and everything changed.
It all happened so fast, and yet I remember every detail. The screaming. The blood. My hands in the other dog’s mouth, trying to pry his jaws off Dymond’s tail. The owner fleeing the scene. My roommate’s boyfriend chasing after him. Me, crumpled on the beach, holding Dymond in my arms while hundreds of people stared.
What followed was a blur of vet visits, TV Interviews, ICU stays, draining wounds, elevated bilirubin levels, and a rollercoaster of hope and heartbreak. I was trying to finish finals. I was trying to work. I was just trying to make sense of what had happened while watching my heart dog slip away right in front of me.
On Saturday, June 13th, 2020, I held him in my lap one last time. Brandon, my parents and I waited in a room for him. He kissed my nose and looked so relieved to see me… to see us. I told him how much I loved him, and he passed peacefully in my arms. We all sobbed.
I’d do anything to rewrite that week. I’d give anything to take back that lake trip. But I can’t. What I can do is continue to honor him in everything I create, continue to share his story, and build something that keeps his spirit alive.
That’s how Dymond’s Co came to life. I didn’t sew the first pair of jammies until January 2022—almost two years after losing Dymond—when I realized nothing fit Dior properly in the Colorado snow. But when it was time to turn it into a real business, I knew the name had to honor the dog who changed my life first. Dior sparked the idea, but Dymond will always be the why.
Dymond was the dog that made me who I am. He was home. He taught me about joy, protection, friendship, and forgiveness—even when I didn’t think I had any left to give.
If you’ve lost a dog like that, I know you understand. And if you haven’t—hug your babies extra tight, because you never know when it could be your last.
This is your reminder to stop and smell the flowers. To take the damn photo. To let your dog roll in the tall Spring grass, even if it makes them sneeze. And if you ever have the chance to love a dog the way I loved Dymond—don’t take a second for granted.
Rest easy, sweet boy. I hope heaven is full of peanut butter, laser pointers, and fields of grass to roll in. Thank you for choosing me to be your mom. 🤍🦋🐾
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