Finding Purpose, One paw at a time
Someone once asked me, “Why do you spend so much time and money on rescue dogs when there are so many other, more important charities you could support? People and children are more important than animals, don’t you think?”
The question hit me like a punch to the chest. I felt my heart drop, and my mind scrambled for words. How do you explain to someone that your heart doesn’t choose what it loves? How do you justify the things that fill your soul? I stood there, caught off guard, feeling exposed and misunderstood. But then I took a breath and realized that this wasn’t just about dogs—it was about who I am and who I’ve always been.
I believe with every fiber of my being that God places a unique passion in each of us. A calling that whispers to our souls, guiding our choices and shaping our lives. For me, that calling has always been animals.
From the time I could walk, animals were my shadow. I was the kid who couldn’t resist a stray, who smuggled kittens home under my jacket, whose heart broke at the sight of a dog wandering alone. It wasn’t just a fondness—it was a purpose. It was my purpose.
I’m here. I’ve got you
I still remember the day I met my first dog. I was five years old, and her name was Fluffy, a tiny silver toy poodle who looked more like a stuffed animal than a real dog. But she was real, and she was mine. From the moment she curled up in my lap, Fluffy became my confidante, my protector, my best friend. When I was scared, she was my courage. When I was sad, she was my comfort. She didn’t just see me—she understood me. Even now, so many years later, I can still feel her soft fur under my fingers, still see those soulful eyes that seemed to say, I’m here. I’ve got you.
Dreaming of being a Vet
I wanted to be a veterinarian. I dreamed of it. But people told me I was too sensitive, that my heart was too soft. They warned me that I would be crushed by the pain and suffering I’d see. And they were probably right. I would have cried over every loss, grieved for every abandoned pet, and hurt for every broken spirit. I would have worn every heartbreak like a scar on my heart. But I also would have healed. I would have saved lives. I would have made a difference.
I didn’t become a vet, but that calling never went away. It just changed forms. I became the person who couldn’t walk past an animal in need, who volunteered at shelters, who advocated for adoption. I became the person who would give my time, my money, my love to save a life—even if it was just one.
A Lifetime of Furry Friends
As the years went by, there was never a single day—not one day—that I didn’t share my life with a dog. They were there for every milestone, every celebration, every heartbreak. When I got married, my dog was there, curled up at my feet. When I became a mother, my dog watched over my babies as if they were her own. When I lost my grandparents, my dog sat beside me, silent and steady, letting me cry into her fur.
There were days when the world felt too big and too loud, and I felt too small and too lost. But no matter how broken I felt, my dogs were there. No judgment. No advice. No words. Just unconditional love. Just those soft eyes that seemed to understand everything I couldn’t say. Just a wagging tail that reminded me that I was enough, just as I was.
When my children grew up and my house became quieter, I felt that old ache again. The ache of an empty nest, of rooms filled with silence, of days that felt too long.
A Life Unfulfilled
I had two dogs, but it wasn’t enough. My heart was too full, and my house was too empty. And just like that, two became four. Four became eight. Eight became nine. Each one a rescue. Each one broken in some way, searching for love, for safety, for a place to belong. They were searching for me just as much as I was searching for them.
I didn’t set out to have a pack of misfits, but that’s exactly what I have. Dogs who were abandoned, neglected, abused. Dogs who were discarded like trash, left to die alone and afraid. Dogs who were given up on. But not by me. Never by me. Because when I look at them, I see more than their scars. I see their hearts. I see their courage. I see their desire to love and be loved. And I see myself in them.
So WHY do I do it?
So why do I do it? Why do I spend my time at shelters, fight for adoption, pour my money, my energy, my heart into my pack of misfits? Why do I write this blog? That’s easy.
Because they are my calling. They are my purpose. They are the reason my heart beats the way it does. I can’t imagine my life without them. I don’t want to. It would be emptier, lonelier, and so much less.
I know there are countless other worthy causes. And they all deserve love, time, and support. But this is mine. This is what I was made for. These dogs—broken, unwanted, imperfect—they are my heart. They are my family. They are my joy.
What were YOU made for?
So before you judge me, before you question my choices, ask yourself: What were you made for? Then go do that. Give it your all. Love without apology. Serve without regret. And know that I’ll be doing the same—one rescue dog at a time.
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