How did I get so lucky? 

Certainly everyone has pondered this question at some point, whether lining up a new gig, buying their first home or maybe finally coming across that special someone. For me, the feeling of being “so lucky” usually bubbles up in simple moments that involve yoga, coffee, a sunrise, nature, a lake, a good deal or, of course, dogs.

Most recently, I had this thought while on the road with my newish four-legged companion, Rue. I had road-tripped to Colorado to catch a show at Red Rocks Amphitheatre. I drove so my loyal – despite being so new to me – companion could tag along. We had navigated the rain all week, making the most of a single rain-free day. Later in the week, after a snowstorm passed through the mountains, we set out for Steamboat Springs – one of my favorite places.  

When we arrived, we were finally blessed with a warm day to take an adventurous hike. Not far into our Uranium Mine Trail hike, the sprinkles started. When the sprinkles turned to heavier rain, I situated beneath evergreens to attempt to stay even a little dry while Rue used her time in a whirlwind of joy, leaping from puddle to puddle like a dive team captain.

We pressed on before finding a beautiful stopping point. We rested on some large, smooth rock where we could hear the waterfall and take in the gorgeous views. I pulled out a snack, and my girl Rue looked up at me. Her warm brown eyes locked with mine. It might have been the snack, but she looked at me like she wouldn’t prefer to be anywhere else other than there with me.

The feeling was mutual.

For several moments, everything stilled as that so-special thought washed over me.

… how did I get so lucky…. again?

Lucky to have found each other. 

Lucky to share this moment.

Lucky to team up on this climb.

Lucky to share this life.

This all might sound cheesy, and it probably is. But if you’ve followed my story with my previous dog, Hines, you already know this isn’t a spot I thought I’d catch myself in. Since Hines and I were united in 2013, I felt he was the best and nothing would ever replace him – or even come close. 

While that first part is true – nothing will replace the pup who spent most of his life, and 10 years of mine at my side – a few people warned me over the years that I was wrong on that last bit.

I recall a conversation with Dad several years prior to Hines’ passing. I was anticipating the loss of my dog, and telling Dad I wouldn’t survive it. 

He did as dads do and informed me I was wrong, confidently telling me I’d find another dog just as great.

I fought back.

So did he.

I should have known a man who had cycled through several dogs in his life would know, but I told him I already knew I’d never love another dog like I loved Hines, as no dog would ever compare.

“Give a dog a chance,” he replied.

The conversation ended without much movement on my part. I look back now and see he was right. 

After months of crying daily and a year and a half of grief, disorientation and sadness, I finally made a move to add another pet to my life. 

Enter Rue (AKA Rue Bug, Roo-Doo, Roodle, Rue-Barb, Rutabaga)

It was a scary step, knowing she’d have big.. er paw prints?… to fill. I feared I’d be frustrated with a newbie, or that a new pet would make me sad, or fail to actually replace Hines. I sat through these emotions, well aware they were present and could impact my next decision. Finally, after multiple close calls with dogs that also may have fit the bill, I found Rue (then-named “Acorn”) – an approximate 1.5-year-old Rottweiler mix saved from St. Paul Animal Control by Ruff Start Rescue. Her broad chest and gentle eyes looked like a match for me, but as it happened with Hines, when I reached out, she was spoken for. 

Bothered, I continued my search and worked to convince myself that the route is the route for a reason, another dog would surface. And he did! Mack was a spunky little German Shepherd with enlarged elephant ears that made me giggle. I was about to make my move when I heard from Ruff Start Rescue. Acorn was on the market again. The timing was too weird to ignore. 

As everyone promised, I knew it when I met her. She ran to me, leaned into me and flipped onto her back to expose her must-be-rubbed belly. She floppily ran after a ball and was clearly interested in anything life would bring her.

I didn’t feel completely ready, but I did it anyway. I’ll never forget how I felt when her foster mom drove away and I stood at the end of a foreign hot dog printed leash holding on to my new friend… A partner for years to come who I had only met for a few minutes.

What did I just do?

My new girl and I walked around the park while I kicked around new names (“Acorn” just wouldn’t cut it – though acorns do hold strong meaning to me since Hines’ passing and burial beneath a red oak – it was just another sign she was the pick for me). 

As my girl and I were getting ready to leave the park that day, a woman who had arrived just seconds after me was also loading up to depart. She had been practicing unicycling and was a sharp observer. She asked whether I had just adopted the dog, which opened the door to me sharing exactly how I was feeling about everything – including rumblings about how nervous I was, how I hadn’t exactly planned on adopting a dog that day and how right and odd it felt simultaneously. Tearing up, I explained I still miss my old dog, but life without one is strange too, and I hope this goes okay, and….

She listened, smiled. All signs pointed to her having gone through the exact same thing. We introduced ourselves and learned we had a few things in common.

Her name was Lori. She knew about old dogs, and she knew that young dogs could shake things up. I asked her to take a photo of the new pup and I. I’ll never forget her encouragement and congratulatory message to me as I nervously watched my new dog jump into the car onto Hines’ old seat protector.

“You’re going to love the new energy she’ll bring to your home,” Lori said.

I wasn’t so sure, but that certainly sounded like something I wanted and needed. While I was unsure of my path forward with my new dog, I was certain of one thing: A near-stranger’s support and encouragement was pivotal, the timing to which was far too odd to be coincidental. A decision this big doesn’t come easy for me, and having such a profound interaction in such perfect timing was divine.

Acorn and I started toward home. I’d like to tell you things were perfect from the beginning. Instead, my gut churned a little every time I saw her foreign face in my rear-view mirror on the way home. Speaking of home… what was my plan when I got there? 

A kennel? I didn’t have one. 

The next day was Monday. How would I navigate days in the office?

Food? Her foster mom couldn’t recall what Acorn had been eating and forgot to bring some to our meet and greet.

Thankfully I had saved Hines’ treats for a day such as this. Though housing them in a dog cabinet for a dog I no longer had made me sad, I knew the day would come when a new set of ears would perk when those doors swung open. We were at least set in the treat department.

We slowly made progress getting to know each other. It took me zero days to buy a gorgeous deep pink collar, a few hours to get her some new toys, and more than a week for me to commit to the name “Rue.” It took her hours of excitedly carrying around a bone and whining before she’d chew it already. It took her three messes in the house to learn we don’t do that, and – here’s where I come clean – it took me three months to get over what I learned can be referred to as “the puppy blues.” 

Basically, I kinda regretted my decision. Even though she was beyond sweet, very obedient, as adorable as could be, and everyone loved her (almost annoyingly so)… I just didn’t super love having a dog again. She felt like a lot. I had to keep a constant eye on her to set chewing and potty boundaries. She was a little needy, sort of hyper, had her nose in everything I did and had a constant need for treats. I was very well aware that I was now committed to a Velcro dog with the favorite pastime of invading personal space. She’d soak up every ounce of affection and attention I gave – and always seemed to require a bit more. A lot-a-bit more.

What made it worse was the instant love everyone else felt for her. My older brother called me specifically to tell me how perfect he thought she was. My sister expressed immediate envy. My younger brother, who has also lived through the loss of a dog, told me how proud he was of me. Mom and dad thought the news was BEYOND great. Everyone at the vet raved…

And yet, I felt mostly indifferent. 

What was wrong with me?

Eventually, the same gal at work who had taught me about puppy blues recommended some obedience classes. I was resistant. After all, Rue was pretty obedient and already knew a few commands. Would classes even make anything better?

I pushed through my doubts and signed us up for a 6-week, rather inexpensive session and we quickly started to learn a few things about each other. That hour per week, and the work we did between classes, helped us bond. I don’t fully credit the course for getting us aligned, but it definitely didn’t hurt. I loved seeing how eager Rue was to do everything right. The classes gave us something to work on together and absolutely united our languages. After six weeks of Obedience I, we signed up for Obedience II, around which time I took a weeklong vacation and left my girl behind in a few of my friends’ care.

Getting Snapchats of my dog while I was in another country was a bittersweet highlight and it didn’t take me long to realize I really, really, missed her shadow. During dinner on my vacation, a friend described perfectly my first few months with Rue. She leaned on her history with horses and explained it takes time to “sync up” with the animal. I realized, thousands of miles away from home, that my new pet and I were pretty well synced and I couldn’t wait to see her again!

The turn of spring and summer has been a really nice change, as warmth and sunny walks make me thrive. On our trip together to see the Rockies and explore Colorado, Rue displayed she is an excellent travel companion (even in the mist, the rain and, yes, sleet) and has special talents in scouting moose! 

June 10 marked seven months with Rue, and while stepping into pet ownership again was a challenging adjustment, I am through the icky transition and feel happy, relieved and overjoyed that the heaviest part of the grief has passed. It is now possible to remember Hines with fewer tears and usually a smile. 

And it feels good to understand that all the dog lovers who advised me through my grief were all so spot on:

Dad was right. Other great dogs do exist.

Aunt Sue was right. EVERY dog you have is “THE BEST DOG EVER.”

My friend Jenna was right: You aren’t going to be able to “buy another Hines.” You need to get another dog (sooner rather than later) to start building the bond, because building the bond is what it’s all about.

And my coworker Eric was right: You’ll find another dog. It will not be the same, but it, too, will be great.

And it has been… Absolutely great.

To other deeply devoted pet owners navigating this journey: You WILL come out the other side someday. And it is surreal and glorious, beyond what you’d ever imagine, leaving you pondering that wonderful, soul-nourishing question, “How did I get so lucky?”

Shootin’ the Wit is a sporadic blog about everyday life that should never, ever be taken too seriously.