For anyone who’s lost a soul dog, here is the story of mine.

We adopted Reesie in 2015. She was just a year old, brought in through animal cruelty, and we had no clue what her first year looked like. But it was obvious from the start she had been abused.

At the time, my wife (then girlfriend) and I were just two young adults figuring life out. We weren’t engaged, hadn’t talked about marriage. But bringing Reesie home was like silently saying to each other, “I’m not going anywhere and I’ll gladly raise this dog with you to prove it.”

The early days weren’t easy. She had severe separation anxiety, chewed furniture, destroyed things, and struggled to trust. But even in those tough moments, we knew she was ours. My wife fell in love with her instantly at the shelter, so much so that she ignored our landlord’s strict no dogs allowed policy. Reesie was coming home.

Over time, everything changed. Without formal training, she became the most loyal, protective, and loving dog I’ve ever known. No leash needed, no chance she’d run away. This was her home. We were her people.

She trusted us in ways that still amaze me. I could balance an entire slice of pizza on her nose, and she’d leave it there as long as I asked; three hours if it came to that (though I’d never make her wait that long). This wasn’t something I trained her to do. It was just her nature. Her attitude was always: “Ok human, whatever you say, I will do.” That’s how much she respected and loved us.

Reesie moved with us through seven different houses, different jobs, across state lines. She was there for our engagement, our wedding, and when our kids were born. When our son came home from the hospital, we brought her his blankets first. She slept with them every night until she met him. And when she did, she welcomed him and later our daughter with nothing but love.

She was adored by our families and friends, protective at first but quick to accept anyone we trusted. Everyone who knew her felt the depth of her loyalty.

The day she left us was almost poetic. It was my daughter’s 5th birthday, and our house was full of family. That morning, we knew something was wrong; her eyes, her energy. But she never complained. She lay quietly under the dining table, surrounded by the laughter and voices of everyone who loved her. A silent goodbye.

That evening, at the ER vet, she was calm in a way she’d never been before. She hated the vet her whole life, but this time she simply rested, looking at us with that unspoken “I love you. It’s okay.” We held her, whispered to her, and our kids gave her one last hug. And then she slipped away, peacefully, with love all around her.

Reesie was more than a dog. She was there at the very beginning of our family and walked with us through every chapter since. She was our constant. Our anchor. Our soul dog. I’m including some pictures of how I think she is spending her time now.

If you’ve lost a soul dog too, I’d love to hear their story. Maybe sharing them here can help us all feel a little less alone.