top of page
  • Writer's pictureAdam

The difference a dog can make

Today is what is known in our house as Hailey Day. In 2005 Jamie and I adopted a little black shelter dog we named Hailey. It’s amazing to think how this one dog has influenced our lives.

I want to share something I wrote a few years ago on Hailey day. This piece was later published on my friend Jeff’s blog that celebrates the human canine bond. If you have a sec please go check it out at

November 26, 2017
12 years ago today we brought you home. I remember it like yesterday. Even though, at the time, we more likely would have said, “We don’t really need a dog right now.” Boy, did you ever prove us wrong. Looking back, it is profound to think just how much you helped shape me and Mom into the people we are today.
You were goofy and always could make us laugh. Whenever it would rain you would come in and run from the bed to the sofa, back and forth and dramatically thrash around drying your face off. More humorous was that you’d do this after a bath, even if we hadn’t gotten your face wet. You’d use our pillows as your personal napkin. Raw eggs, canned tripe, raw-whatever you hated having a messy face and would always run away as soon as you were done. We’d find you jamming your face in-between the pillows of our bed as you grunted. Most people would get mad about this. We just laughed and invested in an extraordinary number of extra pillowcases.
Just as your clairvoyance would have you hiding behind the toilets long before the first rumble of thunder, without falter you had a knack for leaning into a person who needed a listener, or licking away the tears from someone needing comfort. No matter how much self-doubt or self-loathing someone was experiencing, you had this amazing ability to remind us, “Hey we got this.”
You were an amazing caregiver. Whether it was nursing someone back from the flu (dubbed ‘Nurse Hailey’) or helping grieve a family loss. I remember when we would visit Grandma while she was sick you would always carefully crawl into her bed and curl up next to her. Eventually the cancer took Grandma from us. Like clockwork, you velcro’d yourself to Mom for weeks.
Just as you comforted in times of need, you also celebrated the good times. You would always give some joyous barks at mealtime while we were filling bowls. However, in hindsight, you might have also been telling your brothers to step down before you had to hand out beat downs. You always met us at the door with some happy barks of ‘Welcome home.’ And you always passed by us with a ‘Hey friend’ tail wag. Occasionally, that tail wag meant, ‘Hey friend, the cheeseburger you left on the table a few minutes ago was delicious. Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”
We’ve never shared an official dialect, though we’ve spoken to each other in profound ways over the years.
I remember the day you let us know it was time. The hardest phone call of my life was to your doctor the day before we said goodbye. I hung up the phone and immediately started sobbing, and, though you could hardly muster the energy to climb over to me, you did and licked away my tears one last time, as if to say, “It’s ok.”
This morning I awoke to a reminder that it was ‘Hailey Day’ on my phone. It’s not like I needed a reminder. I had already bought some treats and stuffed animals for your brothers, and, even though you are not here with us, we will still take some time to celebrate what an amazing teacher and companion you have been to all of us. I know wherever you are, you’ve found an amazing sunbeam to curl up in, and though we terribly miss the sound of your foot steps, the warmth of your snuggles, and the the smell of the scruff of your neck, we are doing ok.
Thank you friend, for the amazing memories. I love you. I miss you. Happy Adoption Day.

So please take a moment to hug your furry friends today. COVID has these holidays all weird. I am forever thankful this little black dog found her way to us. Wishing you all a happy and healthy Thanksgiving this year.


89 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page