10/25/2026
Last Sunday, October 25, 2026, I went to the shelter to donate some blankets and toys.
It was the first death anniversary of my dog—who had been part of my life for 14 beautiful years and quietly said goodbye on January 18, 2025.
I wasn’t there to adopt.
I went only to donate.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew my landlord had once said, “If you want, you can keep one dog.”
Still, I had no intention of even looking.
At the front desk, I noticed a volunteer with red, tired eyes. I asked her what was wrong.
She spoke softly and said,
“We’re completely full. We have to make space by noon tomorrow. There are two in the back…”
She couldn’t finish the sentence.
I should have walked away.
But I didn’t.
I followed her to the back.
Inside one metal kennel were two mix dogs, about the same age, sitting pressed closely together—so close it was hard to imagine one without the other. They weren’t just sharing space; they were sharing comfort.
The volunteer said,
“People see ‘mixed breed’ and move on. And two together? Most people don’t want that. It’s been four weeks.”
My landlord said one dog.
But my heart knew these two would not survive being separated. They had grown up side by side, found safety in each other, and I couldn’t leave them behind.
I called my landlord from the parking lot—crying, pleading, promising an extra deposit.
She finally said yes.
Welcome home, Bobby and Bunny 🐶🐶
You were on the noon list, but you’ll never know what that means.
All you’ll ever know is this—
You are safe now 🤍
And you are together. 🐾