It’s October 2005. I’d been living in Kansas City a little over a year, and had just moved into a new apartment. Loving the independence, but hating the loneliness, I decided a dog would be just the remedy. And once I locked in on this notion, that was it. I was getting a damn dog. There would be no research on “Best Breeds for Your Lifestyle.” No scouting out vets in my area. No running numbers to see what dog ownership meant financially. I just knew I needed a dog— and I’d know when I found the right one by the feeling I’d get. The rest would take care of itself.

So one Tuesday morning, I turn to my work pals, Courtney and Lisa, and say “Come to Wayside Waifs with me during lunch.” We spent the rest of the morning being super productive, huddled around Lisa’s computer, combing Wayside’s website for all of my potential roommate candidates. It might as well have been the first day of March Madness, with the amount of work we got done that day.

We arrive at the shelter, and, as so many of us have experienced, you’re hit with a mix of emotions; you’re excited about what you’re there to do, but pained by the sheer amount of pups who are looking for homes, and a little guilt at knowing you can only help one.

And then I saw Lewis. Jet black, fluffy-faced, polite, old-souled. They estimated his age to be 2, and told me it was his second stint in a shelter. He just looked at me, as if to say, You won’t go wrong with me, sis. 

And he was right. For 12 years he gave me every wonderful thing he had to offer—from his quirky little old man personality to his infinite loyalty, which included his willingness to step aside when Diggs…then Lincoln…then Baby #1…and then Baby #2 came into the picture. But sometimes, when all those fools were fast asleep, Lew and I would stay up, chatting and snuggling just like the old days. He knew all my secrets…let me cry into his scruffy little neck…forgave me for some of those stretches when I was so preoccupied I didn’t even acknowledge him. He loved me in a way I didn’t deserve.

The blessing that can come from such a bond is knowing when enough is enough. This morning, Lewis told us, Enough. And we knew it was time to say goodbye.

Here’s to Lew Dew…the best spur-of-the-moment decision I’ve ever made.

Lucky me.