Pixie-Dusted: A Labrador Named Tinkerbell
If you’ve ever loved a dog so deeply that they became part of your soul, then you’ll understand this tribute. This is the story of Tinkerbell—our black Labrador whose twelve years with us were sprinkled with silliness, love, and unforgettable magic.
Two weeks ago, I was feeling hopeful.
On July 3, we prepared to adjust Tinkerbell’s medications, hoping to ease her arthritis and coax back her appetite—both of which had been fading. I truly believed we were about to turn a corner, that our sassy, fun-loving best friend would return to her old shenanigans—or at least the senior dog version.
But the next day, everything changed. Tink went into crisis—suffering non-stop seizures. We had been preparing to take her to the emergency vet, thinking she was experiencing vestibular syndrome or perhaps was in need of electrolytes or fluids from her recent lack of appetite. But when the seizures started, we knew that we were headed to send her to the Rainbow Bridge instead. We didn’t do a necropsy, but we know her crisis stemmed from chronic liver problems caused by copper storage disease.
Tinkerbell passed just two days after her 12-year Gotcha Day, closing an incredible chapter with the sassiest, most loyal black Lab the world’s ever known. Tinkerbell was without a doubt my best friend, and while I am mourning her passing, I also celebrate all of the pixie-dusted moments we shared.
When You Wish Upon a Star
In 2013, we joined our friend and breeder’s puppy list after my husband’s Basset Hound Maggie passed away. When we first got together, we had been a three-dog household, with my own dogs Babe and Dutch, and his dog Maggie. After Babe and Dutch passed, Jax joined our family. He was only two when Maggie died, and none of us—human or canine—knew how to navigate a one-dog household.
When it came time to pick out our puppy from the nine-puppy litter, knowing that we wanted a female with a loving, playful, snuggly personality, our breeder gave us two options: purple or yellow. Those colors referred to the yarn each puppy wore so that her size, weight, and other characteristics could be tracked starting the day the litter was born.
Based on photos, we hoped Yellow’s love for cuddling would translate to future snuggles with us. She was always in the middle of the puppy pile, snuggled to her siblings or in the middle of a play session. While loving and absolutely my heart-dog, Jax was not a snuggly dog, and we wanted a dog who would lay across us and invade our personal space.
When we arrived, our breeder gently nudged us: “Keep an open mind about Purple.” We agreed. Then came the chaos—mom and nine chubby puppies tumbling into the yard. Bolo, their mother, greeted us first with that signature Labrador wiggle. The puppies followed.
Yellow ran past me, eyes fixed on Bolo and the rest of the stampede.
And then, without hesitation, one puppy launched herself into my arms, licking my entire face, nibbling as she went.
“That’s Purple,” our breeder smiled.
My cheeks were soaked with puppy kisses—and tears. I whispered, “I think this is our girl.”
You Can’t Name a Labrador retriever “Tinkerbell”
Naming our girl turned out to be its own kind of adventure. I had named Jackson after the main character of Sons of Anarchy, so I was letting my husband take the lead on this pup’s name.
We had been brainstorming names for weeks: Gemma and Tara from Sons of Anarchy, Annie Oakley for a Western nod (her parents were Bluff and Bolo), Disney classics like Belle or Merida. But my husband insisted he wouldn’t name her until he met her.
On the drive back to the hotel, I asked, “So, what name do you have in mind now that you’ve met her?”
“Tinkerbell,” he replied.
“TINKERBELL?” I laughed. “For a black Lab?”
“Tinkerbell.”
“You can’t name a Labrador retriever TINKERBELL!”
“Sure I can. She is Tinkerbell.”
And somehow, he was right.
Sass and Loyalty, Labrador Retriever Style
The Disney Fandom site describes the iconic character of Tinkerbell as “sassy, feisty, stubborn.” They also write, “Tinker Bell is devoted and loyal to those she loves.”
That was our girl. Labrador by breed, but pixie-dusted in spirit.
Our girl had every trait you’d expect from a Labrador—friendly, outgoing, eager to please, full of energy—but she was also sprinkled with a generous dose of pixie dust.
She wasn’t hot-tempered like the character of Tinker Bell is described, but she had opinions. Like when she aced leash walking and basic obedience cues but snubbed every trick we ever tried to teach her. It was like she knew exactly what was important for daily life and dismissed the rest with a wag and a shrug.
Jackson and Tinkerbell
Tink lived to play with Jackson and would engage him in zoomies and bitey-face every chance she got. They ran zoomies in the snow, zoomies in the muddy spring, zoomies in the hot summers, and zoomies in the crisp fall days. Zoomies were life—alongside bitey-face battles that morphed into puppy parkour across the furniture.
No matter where Jax went, Tink was glued to him. We would joke that she was like someone with an entire beach to choose from—yet she always set her blanket right next to Jackson’s.
When it was time to relax, there was nothing Tink loved more than to chew on her moose antlers, also shared with Jackson. They would lay next to each other, either sharing the same antler or swapping them back and forth.
On many occasions, I watched Jackson outsmart Tink by pretending to show great interest in a specific antler or toy until she gave up the original toy and turned her focus on the new item, only for him to immediately swoop in and steal it from her. It got to the point where I would watch her and tell her, “Girlfriend, do not fall for it, you are smarter than this!” Inevitably, she fell for his tricks every time—then wriggled over to me as if to say, “Mom, it happened again!”
When Jackson passed away after a year-long battle with melanoma, Tink was as lost as we were. Because of their extremely strong bond, and because she seemed just as lost as we were, we quickly decided to add Quill to the family.
Tink was an only dog for just five months while we waited for Quill to be born and then to be old enough to come home. During that time, we went on tons of walks together. She was a fantastic walking buddy, eager to just go and sniff the world. We had a few playdates with other dogs, and she was happy just generally hanging out with us.
When my husband was in the hospital for a total of two weeks, Tink was the absolute perfect companion. He had suffered a burst appendix, an emergency appendectomy, and complications from that procedure. I would visit him every day, and although I am used to him working 24-hour shifts as a firefighter, for him to be away for that many nights in a row was extremely hard. At nine years old and as the only dog in the house, Tink had gone from crazy wild-child to chilled-out, perfect dog, and her presence was invaluable to me during that very hard time.
Tinkerbell and Quill
Picking up Quill was delayed by a month because of my husband’s appendectomy and recovery, so Quill did not come home to us until he was just over three months old, instead of the usual eight weeks.
His arrival in our family brought a new playfulness to Tinkerbell. While I am not entirely sure she bonded to him as much as she did to Jackson, I believe she was happy to have a playmate. They played zoomies, bitey-face, and engaged in games of tug. She started chewing her antlers again and introduced him to the antler-sharing game. We even saw her try to pull one over on him like Jax used to do to her.
Tink’s only bad habit was coprophagia, or poop eating—a behavior some experts link to nutritional deficiencies or instincts from wild ancestors to keep their “den” clean. She began this around puberty, but only ever showed interest in Jax’s poop, never her own or that of other dogs. We intervened successfully 95% of the time, but she was persistent. After Jax passed and Quill joined the family, she quickly began trying to eat Quill’s poop, which we took as a (gross but oddly touching) sign she had accepted him as her pack mate.
Gone to the Rainbow Bridge, But Not Gone
Last week, I stitched twelve years of memories into a one-minute video. It wasn’t enough. It never could be.
But I saw our adventures reflected in every frame, every silly clip, every moment she nudged her way into the corners of our lives. From the silly photo of her sitting with the curtains on her head to an image I captured where it looks like she’s whispering in Jax’s ear. The photos of her sitting on playground equipment, so happy to explore anywhere we went. Our selfies that usually came out a blur of her trying to lick me, and me laughing.
From the moment she launched herself into my arms, she chose us—again and again, every single day.
The funny thing about how she launched herself that day: she kept up that habit her entire life. As a young dog, she would launch herself into my lap and drape herself across me to get petted. As she aged, she added a step to the process, jumping onto the sofa and then launching herself across my body.
Sometimes I saw it coming, and other times she took out a plate, a cup of coffee, or my laptop. But I was always elated to have her full 75 pounds of Labrador joy on top of me, showering me with kisses like that very first day when she was much smaller.
Tinkerbell will live in our hearts and minds forever. We will never forget her. Her name is tattooed on my right wrist, Jackson’s on my left—and an infinity symbol connects them when I place my arms together. I got this years ago when they were both young dogs because previously I had only gotten memorial tattoos for my dogs, and I wanted to celebrate them while they were alive.
Tink’s time with us wasn’t just 12 years and 2 days. It was a lifetime. And the love we shared is forever.
“Never say goodbye, because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.” – Peter Pan
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