Our Story

Gideon was our white Boxer boy. The kind of dog who becomes the center of your entire universe the second you meet. He wasn't just a pet, he was family, he was joy, he was the thing that made sense when nothing else did.

When Gideon was just over eight years old, he was diagnosed with lymphoma.

Six days later, we said goodbye.

Six. Days.

I didn't just lose my dog. I lost the ground beneath my feet. The bottom fell out of my world, and I couldn't find my way back up. The guilt was suffocating: why didn't I know? Why didn't I catch it sooner? Why didn't anyone tell me to check for lumps?

I don't blame veterinarians. I don't blame anyone. But I couldn't stop thinking: if I had known to check Gideon's body regularly, just once a month, running my hands over him the way I did anyway, then maybe I would have found that mass before it was late-stage lymphoma. Maybe I would have had more than six days.

Maybe I would have had more time.

Rest in peace, my precious Giddy-Giddy

02/01/11 - 06/04/19

Then Came Zeke

Sixty-seven days after Gideon died, I learned about a deaf white Boxer at a nearby rescue. His name was Cosmo. He was about two years old, filled with crippling anxiety and fears from whatever hell he'd lived through before.

I changed his name to Zeke.

Zeke and I were both a mess. He was terrified of everything. I was drowning in grief. But somehow, we managed to bring each other back to life. His ridiculous Boxer antics and endless wiggle-butt energy became my guiding light. I helped him learn to trust again. He helped me remember how to breathe.

Life was good again. We were healing.

About two and a half years later, I adopted Zella—a Boxer/Pittie/Staffy mix who was six months old and absolutely bursting with chaotic puppy energy. She became Zeke's buddy, his partner in crime.

And then a traumatic encounter with an unleashed dog rewired her nervous system, and everything changed.

Zella's emotions are big. Enormous. The kind of big that the world doesn't always understand or have patience for. Her feelings flood her body faster than she can process them, and regulating all that intensity takes daily work and endless compassion.

Here's the thing, though: Zella is not broken. She is perfect.

She reminds me of myself in ways that pierce straight through my chest. She feels everything with an intensity that overwhelms her. Her nervous system runs hot before the day even starts. The world judges her for having big emotions she can't always control, and I know—I know—what that feels like.

Sometimes you don't get the dog you imagined. Sometimes life looks wildly different from what you planned. And here's what I've learned: that's not a tragedy. That's just love showing up in a different shape.

Zella has taught me more about patience, compassion, and unconditional acceptance than any "easy" dog ever could. She's taught me that not all dogs need to love every person or every dog they meet. She's taught me that needing space, boundaries, and understanding doesn't make you less worthy of devotion—it makes you exactly who you are.

I love her with a fierceness that would scare people if they knew the half of it. I love her on the hard days, the overwhelming days, the days when progress feels impossible. I love her because she's exactly like me—misunderstood, too much, and deserving of someone who will never, ever give up.

“The willingness to show up changes us. It makes us a little braver each time.”

— Brene Brown

This experience made me wonder why, in all my years as a pet guardian, no vet had ever mentioned the importance of regularly checking our pets for suspicious lumps and bumps. I certainly don't blame the veterinary profession, but I realized that sharing this simple practice with our Instagram followers could help prolong our furry friends' lives. Sitting in my car (it was the height of COVID-19, so long waits in the vet parking lot were the thing) waiting for Zeke to be discharged after his third surgery, I committed to myself to usher in change through awareness of early detection in canine cancer.

Zeke has now undergone seven surgeries to remove suspicious growths, most of which turned out to be mast cell tumors. At the same time, Zeke began experiencing hind leg weakness. Having first ruled out all other possible diagnoses, we landed on degenerative myelopathy in the summer of 2023. It may seem like a series of unfortunate events, but through it all, he's been surrounded by love. Our close-knit Instagram community of fellow dog owners and zealous Zeke enthusiasts has been an incredible source of support. Their kindness and generosity left us stunned and grateful beyond words. As we look towards a future where Zeke's treatments and veterinary expenses are no longer astronomical, we are committed to extending the same extraordinary bigheartedness we received by donating a percentage of our merch proceeds to pup families with similar experiences.