I spent $50,000 to clone my dog—nothing prepared me for the outcome

I started laughing. I actually thought it was hilarious. I was incredibly nervous, and apparently, so was he. Suddenly this huge, emotional moment became less tense. I was holding a nervous little puppy. His name is Smoochie.

Genetically, Smoochie is a clone of my dog Ciuppi, who died in March 2025. But I learned very quickly that sharing the same DNA does not mean sharing the same soul.

Ciuppi came into my life as a puppy in 2016. He was there through relationships, breakups, moves and different versions of myself. I could be alone in an apartment without ever really feeling alone because there was always Ciuppi.

I called him my soul dog because that’s what he felt like.

When Ciuppi developed lymphoma, a common cancer in dogs, I became consumed with trying to save him. I traveled with him from our home in Florida to Washington State for treatment and ultimately spent tens of thousands of dollars trying to keep him alive.

Cloning entered the picture during that fight.

My original reason for cloning Ciuppi wasn’t to replace him after he died. I was looking for every possible way to save him, and our veterinarian suggested we might be able to do a bone marrow transplant from a clone back to Ciuppi to help him live longer. But Ciuppi died before that became an option.

By the time his disease progressed, I had already invested a significant amount of money in the cloning process.

I could walk away and lose much of what I had already spent, or I could pay the remaining balance and allow Ciuppi’s cell line to live on—so that’s what I did. The cloning process ultimately cost me $50,000.

For me, finishing was a no-brainer, but I still felt guilty. After Ciuppi died, the idea of loving another dog felt strangely disloyal. I worried that getting another dog meant I was replacing him. And when that dog was going to look exactly like him, the feeling became even more complicated.

Part of me wondered what Ciuppi would think. Would he be happy that I had another dog?

But grief had made my world feel lifeless. Ciuppi had been the one constant through so many chapters of my life. When he disappeared from the apartment, the mornings and all of our little routines, I didn’t just miss having a dog—I missed him.

Then Smoochie arrived.

At first, I couldn’t stop comparing them. Ciuppi had been a surprisingly relaxed puppy. Smoochie, who was born in a laboratory in Hong Kong, arrived with an unlimited supply of energy. Getting him to sit still long enough for a photograph felt impossible. I’d look through old puppy pictures of Ciuppi calmly posing while Smoochie zoomed around me and think, “Ciuppi would never do this.”

The more time I spent with Smoochie, their differences kept piling up.

Ciuppi hated water. Once, when I put him in it, he lifted his paws one at a time as if he wanted to avoid having all four submerged at once.

During Smoochie’s first month with me, he saw me in the pool and jumped straight in.

Ciuppi hadn’t been particularly fond of men. Well, that might actually be putting it nicely. He could be downright unfriendly toward men and occasionally tried to bite them. Smoochie, however, loves everyone.

Ciuppi loved me intensely, but often from a little distance. Smoochie wants to be physically attached to me. He is a huge cuddler.

But despite all their differences, some things are eerily similar.

When Ciuppi was a puppy, he had a little ritual. Whenever I stepped out of the shower, he would immediately start licking the water from my legs.

Not long after bringing Smoochie home, I took a shower and left the bathroom door open. When I stepped out, he was waiting for me. He walked over and started licking the water from my legs, exactly like Ciuppi used to. I froze: For a moment, it felt like Ciuppi was home again.

There are other little things. Their barks sound remarkably similar. Ciuppi’s favorite treats were freeze-dried raw beef hearts. I’ve offered Smoochie all kinds of treats, but he keeps going back to the beef hearts.

Those moments are strange and comforting at the same time.

But I don’t believe they mean Ciuppi came back.

In fact, getting his clone taught me almost the opposite.

Ciuppi had already lived his life with me. He had his own experiences, personality, memories and relationship with me. Smoochie may share his DNA and appearance, but he is experiencing the world for the first time.

He is his own little soul.

Once I stopped expecting Smoochie to be Ciuppi, I was able to love him for exactly who he is.

That helped with the guilt I felt, too. I realized that loving Smoochie wasn’t taking anything away from Ciuppi. There was nothing to replace because the relationship I had with Ciuppi couldn’t be re-created in the first place.

People sometimes talk about cloning as though it offers a way to cheat death. After my experience, I don’t see it that way. Smoochie did not erase my grief. He did not replace Ciuppi. And he did not give me my old dog back.

What he did was bring a dog back into my life.

After losing Ciuppi, I’m not sure I would have gotten another dog otherwise. The ending had hurt too much. Smoochie opened that part of my life again.

And yes, there is something incredibly comforting about looking down and seeing a face that looks so much like the dog I loved for nearly a decade.

If Ciuppi could see us now, I no longer think he would believe I replaced him. I think he would understand why Smoochie exists.

I cloned my dog because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing every part of him.

I didn’t get Ciuppi back, but I got the chance to love a new soul without having to let go of the one who came before him.

Ariella Iorio is the founder of Soul Dog Stories, personalized books about the dogs who change our lives. She and Smoochie live in Florida.

All views expressed in this article are the author’s own.

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