““From Puppy to Protector: The Heart of Our Family is Slowing Down””

When Their Cough Becomes a Whisper of Time: The Story of London, Our Family’s Legacy Dog

Last night, in the stillness of early morning, I reached my hand down beside the bed and felt the familiar curls of London, my 15-year-old Goldendoodle, sleeping soundly on her favorite sheepskin rug. It’s soft and warm and placed right beside me—where she’s chosen to be, every night, for the last chapter of her life.

London isn’t my first Goldendoodle—I’ve had the joy of breeding and loving these dogs for over 30 years—but she’s the one I’ve had the longest. She’s more than a dog. She’s family history. She’s legacy. She’s been woven into the fabric of our home through the lives of all my children.

When Natalie was just four years old, she picked London out as a puppy. She was enamored by her right away and insisted, “This one’s mine.” She named her London, and for a little while, that was her dog. But my children were still living at home, and Lauren quickly bonded with her too. I remember the early days when the girls would actually argue about whose dog London really was. She was so lovable, so eager to connect, that she bonded with everyone—and truthfully, she became all of ours.

But life has a way of drawing the lines over time.

When Lauren moved to New York years later, I let London go with her. Lauren was navigating a new city and a new season of life, but she had begun experiencing fainting spells and health concerns that left me feeling uneasy. I didn’t want her to be alone. So London went from family dog to service dog, standing faithfully beside Lauren through the streets of New York and the unknowns of that season.

But New York wasn’t kind to London. The city, with all its grit and air and concrete, wore her down. She got sick. I’ll never forget flying up to get her—to bring her home where she belonged. And when Lauren came back to Alabama for good, she brought London with her. But when the time came for Lauren to move again—to grow, to build her own home—London didn’t want to go. She loved Lauren deeply, but by then, she had already chosen me.

She had come full circle.

She became mine.

Now she sleeps on the rug beside my bed, the room always gently dimmed for her tired eyes, her ears not quite catching the sounds they once did. She doesn’t see very well anymore. Her hearing is soft. But what’s new—and what weighs on me—is the cough.

It’s deep. Heavy. It happens when she’s lying on her side, legs stretched out gently as if trying to find comfort in an aging body. It sounds like she’s trying to clear something from her chest, like a phlegmy rattle that never produces anything. And when I hear it in the dark, I know—it’s time to start paying close attention.

This kind of cough, especially in a senior dog, is often a sign of congestive heart failure, where fluid builds in the lungs and makes breathing harder. It could also be age-related airway issues, chronic bronchitis, or a weakening trachea. None of these are sudden, and none of them mean goodbye—not right away. But they are reminders. Whispers. That time is doing what time always does.

So I hold her closer.

If your own senior dog begins to cough deeply at night or while lying down, know this: it’s their way of telling you they’re changing. Watch their breathing rate—especially during sleep. Look for signs of fatigue, changes in appetite, or pale gums. These quiet shifts matter. A vet visit and a listening ear can bring clarity and relief.

But above all, be there.

Let them sleep beside you on the rug they love. Lay your hand gently on their back and remind them they are still the center of your heart. Love them through the cough, through the slowness, through the fading. It’s what they’ve done for us, every step of their life.

London, you’ve been my shadow. My daughter’s protector. My family’s joy. And now, in these twilight days, you are my soul’s companion. You still think you’re my service dog—and maybe, in some ways, you are. Because I can’t imagine these days without you.

I will be here until your very last breath, just as you’ve been here for me every step of the way.

With all my heart,
Sherri