I was raised in a house where dogs
were not pets but storylines.
Flockie, fierce little guardian,
patrolling the borders of childhood.
Ollie, the Wonder Dog,
half giant, half myth,
all heart,
the one who walked beside me
like he had been assigned the job by the universe.
Heidi, wild and bright,
a fugitive with sheep’s wool on her breath
and summers in Nova Scotia in her bones.
Gunther, the one puppy miracle,
proof that even small dogs
can write big legends.
And then came the ones who shaped
the in between years,
the ones who carried me forward
when life shifted under my feet.
Lulu, my heart dog,
the little dachshund who loved me
with a devotion that left a hollow
when she was gone.
Her absence was a wound
I did not know how to close
until Romeo arrived
and stitched it gently,
one heartbeat at a time.
Murphy, the tiny poodle
with the soul of a knight,
who lived twenty one long years
and would have taken a bullet for me
without hesitation.
I loved him,
but not the way he loved me,
and that truth still tugs at me
like a thread I never tied off.
Sid Vicious,
whose name was a lie
and whose only violence
was the ferocity of his fetch obsession.
A dog who believed joy
was something you chased
and brought back proudly
again and again.
And now, the pack that fills my home
and my days
and the spaces I did not know
were still empty.
Romeo, my heart dog,
the one who looks at me
like he remembers every lifetime
we have ever shared.
Cubby, my little buddy,
joy wrapped in fur,
a shadow with a wagging tail.
Connor, my sweet and fragile boy,
who learned safety in my hands
and taught me softness in return.
Rocco, borrowed but belonging,
folded into the pack
as naturally as breath.
These dogs,
past and present,
are the chapters of my life.
They shaped me,
held me,
trusted me,
and taught me what loyalty feels like
when it curls up beside you
and falls asleep.
I did not just grow up with dogs.
I was raised by them.
And I am still being raised
every day
by the ones who walk beside me now.
.JPG)
