March came and went…, and if you were waiting for a newsletter from me, you probably noticed something missing.
That one’s on me.
Usually, March is a full, lively month: birthdays, celebrations, markets, all the good stuff. The kind of month that keeps me busy in the best way. But this year had other plans. And in a way I didn’t expect, it became a reminder of how losing a pet changes you: quietly, deeply, and in ways that reach far beyond a single moment.
I’m a pretty private person, and don’t often share much of the personal side of things. But I also believe in being real with you, especially because you’re not just “an audience.” You’re part of this journey with me.
So here’s a bit of what happened behind the scenes.
Saying Goodbye to Bonsai
Earlier this month, I lost my best buddy, Bonsai.
And calling him “just a dog” wouldn’t even come close.
I adopted him in 2012 from the Houston Humane Society, and from that moment on, he became my constant companion. Wherever I went, he went. Long walks through the neighborhood, visiting friends, even heading out to bars, I picked places based on whether Bonsai was welcome. Priorities.
When I moved back to Germany, there was never a question. Of course, he came with me. We built a life together there, just like we had here, side by side, always figuring things out as a team.
There were times I even brought him to work when my parents couldn’t watch him. At one job, he even had his own security badge… which, honestly, suited him perfectly.
We’ve traveled, lived in different homes, and gone through more life changes than I can count. Through all of it, every high, every low, he was there. Steady. Loyal. My rock.
So even though I knew this day would come… even though 15 years is an incredible age, especially for a 90+ pound dog… it still hit hard (ugh, I can’t even get through writing this without tears in my eyes)
It’s not just losing a pet. It’s losing a presence that shaped your everyday life for over a decade.
And now, it’s the quiet moments that feel the loudest.
Walking past where his bed used to be.
Expecting to hear him.
Still catching myself thinking I need to check on him.
Heck, even the smell of his poop inside my house. He had sphincter incontinence during the last 2 years of his life that left me random presents everywhere, lol.
He wasn’t just part of my life; he was part of who I became during those years.
And maybe that’s part of why I care so deeply about the work I do.
Because when you’ve experienced that kind of bond, when an animal becomes family, it changes how you see all animals. Not as something distant or abstract, but as individuals. Lives. Personalities. Stories.
Bonsai wasn’t “just a dog.”
And the species I paint aren’t “just animals.”
They matter. Deeply.
And if sharing a piece of that connection through my art helps even one person feel that too… then a part of what he gave me continues on.
And that feels like something worth holding onto.
So… that was by far the hardest part of March…
But it wasn’t all…
And Then… a Flood
Because apparently one thing at a time would’ve been too easy, we were also hit with a plumbing issue that flooded part of our house.
The culprit? A neighbor’s tree that decided our drain pipe looked like a great place to grow into.
Not exactly the kind of collaboration I’m looking for.
The good news is that it was on the city side, so repairs were covered (small wins, right?). But between cleanup, repairs, and everything else going on, it definitely added to the whirlwind.
A Month That Took More Than It Gave
Between loss, home repairs, markets, birthdays, and a few heavier moments in between, March ended up taking a lot more energy than I had planned for.
And somewhere in all of that, the newsletter just… didn’t happen.
Not because I didn’t care, but because I simply couldn’t keep up with everything at once.
And I was reminded that apparently, I am not super-human… Who would’ve thought?
Slowly Finding My Way Back
Things are starting to settle again.
Not all at once, not perfectly, but step by step.
I’m getting back into the studio, picking up the brush again, and finding that rhythm that feels like home. And with that comes new art, new stories, and new ways to keep supporting conservation through what I create. (Meanwhile, you can find some really cool stories of endangered animals on my blog)
If you’ve stuck around, if you’ve supported my work, if you’ve simply taken the time to read this: thank you.
It really does mean more than you know.
Moving Forward
If March taught me anything, it’s this:
Even when life hits pause, the mission doesn’t go anywhere.
This March, I had originally planned to highlight the Red wolf, a species that, like so many others, exists in fragile numbers and faces an uncertain future. It felt like an important story to tell.
But I couldn’t bring myself to finish it in time.
Because suddenly, this wasn’t just about conservation from a distance. It was personal in a different way.
Losing Bonsai reminded me, in the most real and painful way, what it means when a life is gone. What it feels like when a presence disappears. And while the circumstances are different, that sense of loss, the weight of it, is something that connects us.
The red wolf’s story deserves the time, care, and attention it was meant to have.
So instead of rushing it, I’m choosing to come back to it later this year, when I can give it the space it deserves.
Because these stories matter.
And if sharing a piece of that connection, of what it means to lose, to care, to protect, helps even one person see wildlife differently…
Then, a part of what Bonsai gave me continues on.
Then, Artsefact’s mission is the very best way to honor Bonsai’s memory.
