I was born on the streets of Tulsa—
or so the humans believe.
My mother was a Great Pyrenees,
my father a mystery:
Rottweiler, Newfoundland,
maybe a little Golden light woven in.
I learned thirst from creeks,
hunger from trash cans,
and how to keep going
when my body weighed fifty
but my soul needed seventy.
They found me thin,
but not broken.
And they brought me
to the Golden Retriever Rescue of the Rockies,
where my body began to remember
what care feels like.
Still, I longed
for the kind of love
my Pyrenees mother once gave—
the kind that says
you belong without proving anything.
Then one day, she came.
I knew her before I saw her.
Left-brain proof doesn’t live here,
but truth does.
She arrived with a friend—
the only thing they shared
was their love of dogs,
and that was enough.
I greeted the friend first,
polite and joyful.
Then I went to my human.
We looked into each other’s eyes.
I can do that—
hold a gaze,
tell a whole story in silence.
They invited her to walk me.
I walked perfectly beside her.
And the decision was already made.
But fear remembers.
Buildings scared me.
Cars confused me.
Leaving felt dangerous.
Staying felt impossible.
I carried a quiet storm inside—
what humans call
post-traumatic stress.
But my mother—
who had spent decades
loving children through fear—
knew exactly what to do.
She went outside with me.
Every time.
It was winter in Evergreen.
Cold. Snow deep and endless.
And still—
she never sent me out alone.
Each step we took together
taught me something new:
love doesn’t leave.
love stays.
love waits.
Six weeks later,
I walked out on my own.
Not because fear was gone,
but because trust had arrived.
Now it’s almost six years later.
We celebrate Adoption Day—
February 2, 2020.
Write it down.
A perfect palindrome.
Even the numbers knew.
My birthday is February 14, of course.
Love day.
I sleep in a bed called a loveseat.
I eat food made with care—
proteins, fats, supplements,
and devotion
All I want for Christmas
is what I already have.
And also—
we are waiting
For the right one.
A new dad for me.
A wondrous partner for her.
The one who completes the circle
we already trust is forming.
I have a brother, too—
brilliant and kind.
And his daughter sees me
the way I see her:
perfect images of love,
recognizing themselves.
This is not just my story.
It is the story of what happens
when love walks beside fear
until fear learns
it is no longer alone.