Remembering Ava Bean: Our Gentle Girl Who Loved Quietly and Deeply

Some dogs come into our lives loudly — tails wagging, voices booming, energy filling every room. Ava Bean was the opposite. She arrived softly, a three-legged rescue from Russia who didn’t bark, didn’t demand attention, and didn’t take up much space. And yet somehow, she filled our home with a kind of quiet love that changed all of us.

When we adopted Ava in January of 2024, we knew very little about her past. What we did know was that she needed patience, safety, and people who would see her for who she was — timid, gentle, and wonderfully unique. She had a personality all her own: a girl who spoke in huffs instead of barks, who poked us with her nose when she wanted affection, and who curled up right beside us on the couch as if she’d been part of our family forever.

Ava loved the simple things: morning snuggles, belly rubs, ear scratches, and the thrill of hearing her leash jingle. She walked with a charming sideways hop, her own signature stride, and she carried herself with a grace that made you forget she was missing a leg at all. Her eyes—soft, expressive, and honest—told stories she never had to say out loud.

What made Ava so special was how she connected differently with each of us.
For our daughter, she was a soul dog — sensitive, intuitive, and emotionally in sync, even mirroring little habits like nail-biting.
For our son, she became a slow-growing friendship, one that bloomed in small moments on the couch.
For my wife, she was a warm TV companion, always close enough to feel but loud enough in her licking to be lovingly teased.
And for me, she was a reminder of my children — tender, trusting, needing reassurance. I’d often tell her, “I got you,” and I truly meant it. She followed me everywhere, not out of fear, but because she knew she was safe.

Ava passed suddenly on November 19, 2025, leaving us with shock, sadness, and gratitude all tangled together. But she wasn’t alone in those final moments. Our daughter comforted her through the phone. Our son honored her afterward. And the love she carried — quiet, steady, unconditional — remains woven through our home and our hearts.

Ava Bean may not have had a long life here, but she made a lasting one.
She taught us that love doesn’t have to be loud to be deep.
That healing can be gentle.
That presence matters more than anything else.

We will always miss her.
And we will always be thankful for the time she gave us.

For Ava Bean — our gentle girl who loved quietly and deeply.