Danielle Carpenter Jesudowich

Danni spent years in the New York City advertising world as a production department head, a job that basically amounts to being the only adult in a building full of creative teams worried about money, or deadlines, or both, usually loudly. She was extremely good at it, mostly because Danni had a huge personality and took no crap from anyone — a policy she enforced with the same energy whether she was talking to a client, a vendor, or her husband. She brought that same energy home with her every single day of her life, and fine-tuned those skills on Alex accordingly.

In 1981, Danni met her husband Alex, and the two spent the next several decades together, which is either an extraordinary love story or an extraordinary feat of endurance on Alex's part, depending on who you ask. Probably both.

And then there were the dogs. Danni didn't just love dogs — she loved dogs the way other people love money, or God, or the Red Sox. Deeply, loudly, and without a shred of embarrassment. Over the years she and Alex were owned and operated by four dogs — Kasha, Scout, Cobie Girl, and Cocoa Puff — each one treated less like a pet and more like a beloved, extremely spoiled coworker who never once had to fill out a timesheet. Kasha, Scout, and Cobie Girl have gone ahead of her, and something tells us Danni is already reorganizing wherever they are. Cocoa Puff survives her, and is reportedly staring at the door, waiting for someone to explain what just happened to the snack schedule.

Danni eventually left Madison Avenue for Cape Cod, where she became the unofficial house mother to an entire firm of engineers — a job that taught her more about herding cats, and more about septic systems, than any single human being should reasonably need to know. Engineers, it turns out, are harder to train than dogs. Danni handled them beautifully anyway.

Lima beans never stood a chance. Her hatred of them was total, permanent, and completely non-negotiable — arguably the one subject on which nobody, ever, changed her mind.

Danni is survived by her husband Alex, her dog Cocoa Puff, and a wide, devoted circle of friends who loved her fiercely and occasionally got told exactly what they were doing wrong — because she loved them too much not to.

In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made to the Sampson Fund, on whose board Danni proudly served.

Danni Jesudowich was, in every sense of the phrase, a force of nature. She arrived, she took charge, and she left everyone around her a little better organized and a little more loved. Rest easy, Danni. Try not to reorganize Heaven's filing system on day one.