The Life That She Deserved

I long thought of myself as strictly a cat person. I loved interacting with other people’s dogs, but for my own home, I preferred the company of cats only. To me, they were more independent, more snuggly, and their type of playfulness was what I preferred. Those who consider themselves dog people immediately will be able to spot the flaws in my thinking, and I can also say that I have since been disabused of my illusions.

Such disabusing came first through our little Chihuahua-terrier mix, who fooled us into thinking she’d be quiet and timid. It turns out that that was mostly the sedatives that hadn’t yet fully worked through her system the day we brought her home. The first few weeks that she lived with us, my thinking changed from “I’m only a cat person” to “okay, I’m a one dog person.”

Then the pandemic hit, and my family began fostering animals as one way to fill the hours. We had done a few litters of kittens, but decided to try our hand at dogs as well. Our first dog foster was a pair of puppies who were as needy as they were cute. It was easy for me to return them at the end of their stay.

Our next foster was an adult dog who had been removed from a puppy mill. We were told that she needed a calm and quiet environment, which we didn’t exactly have, but that we could at least create enough of so that she could recover in peace.

She laid on a blanket on the floor, trying to make herself as small as possible, her eyes nervously watching every movement in the room. I sat on the couch next to her, knowing not to encourage or force her to join me, but just to be present, to let her know that not all humans were like the ones she came from. After a few days, she tentatively joined me on the couch, even resting her head on my arm or leg.

It only took me a few days to decide that this new dog would not be sent back to the shelter. She was just starting to trust someone, possibly for the first time…to then abruptly place her in a kennel would be a cruel sweeping of the rug, and I was not going to do that. I wanted her to have the life that she deserved, and I wanted to provide that life for her.

Progress came slowly, but it did come. Moments on the couch opened doors for other activities. It was her favorite thing to do and her favorite place to be for years. But eventually, she was exploring the house. Sometime after that, she was not only up for wandering around inside, but also outside, and the latter became one of her favorite places to be. The weather didn’t matter: she often came in soaked from the rain or covered in snow. She chased birds and squirrels around the yard. She barked at people and other dogs who walked past. She brought us part of a rabbit one time, which horrified me but that she obviously couldn’t have been more proud of. Being outside was the direct opposite of her puppy mill cage, and I often watched her joy and contentment at being free.

Luna clearly claimed me as her person. This went back to those first weeks of our sitting on the couch together. I may have been the very first person she ever felt comfortable around, which again was one of the biggest reasons I refused to take her back to the shelter. Her tail would start thumping whenever she saw me. She had a dance of excitement that she would do in the kitchen when I’d walk in from our garage. When she wasn’t outside, she wanted to be at least in the same room as me, if not right next to where I was sitting. I took my role in her life seriously, because I knew what I meant to her given her earliest experiences.

On June 20th, 2026, my family was on a train coming back from our annual trip to Florida. My wife received a phone call late in the evening from our dog sitter sharing the news that Luna had crossed the rainbow bridge sometime that afternoon. We’ve since pieced together some circumstantial evidence to figure out what happened. It was no one’s fault, but it was still a shock.

It took me a few days before I was able to let myself feel the grief. I was so wrapped up in the busyness of the weekend that I couldn’t feel the weight of it for several days. However, I could at least immediately give thanks that she could have a life that she deserved.

Even so, I had a version of this post in my head titled “It’s Not Fair.” It wasn’t fair that she was kept in a cage and forced to birth litters of puppies. It wasn’t fair that she was traumatized by people seeking to make money by using her body. It wasn’t fair that after so long, she needed someone to be so intentional to show her another life that wasn’t so harsh and cruel.

She finally began experiencing a life that she deserved, but she should have had it for longer than six years. She deserved more time to play freely in the yard and dance in the kitchen. She deserved more time trying to steal food from my kids and rub her back against the bushes by our porch. She deserved more time to chase birds and squirrels and bark at the neighbors. She deserved more time to thump her tail on the floor with excitement and more time to roll on her side for belly rubs and more time to sigh with contentment on our bedroom floor.

I am beyond thankful that she at least had that long. I was thankful and honored to have been the one to give her what she needed during that time. I was honored to be her person since the very first time she risked jumping on the couch next to me.

I am thankful that she was my dog.