Friday, November 14, 2025 – Day 458

Friday, November 14, 2025

Good morning, everyone! Let’s talk about pets.

We have a mini goldendoodle named Bear, and he came into our lives during peak Covid. We originally looked at rescue dogs—so was the entire world—so we turned to a breeder recommended by a friend. We put down a deposit and were told it might be a year before our name came up. As it turned out, it was half that. In December 2020, we drove up to northern Michigan and came home with an armful of curls, paws, and pure joy.

Now he’s turning five next month, and we can’t imagine our life without him woven into the fabric of our family. We love him—and he loves us right back, tenfold.

Lately, Bear has been watching me with these steady, thoughtful eyes. There’s a look on his face that tells me he knows something’s not right. He’ll walk up to wherever I’m sitting and just look at me—quietly, gently. This is not his usual behavior. Cindy is the food and treat czar, so normally he’s glued to her for every crumb, snack, and any possibility of a snack.

But with me, he’s become different. Softer. When we play tug-of-war with one of his bones, he gives me time now. He lets me catch an end instead of whipping it away at lightning speed. And when he pulls, it’s gentle—almost careful—as if he knows my hands don’t have much strength left.

Bedtime is its own comedy routine. Bear is always first up always claims my side of the bed before I get there and has no interest in yielding. As I begin my slow, tedious climb into bed—first sitting on the edge, putting on my respirator mask, then the long scoot toward the middle—Bear stands his ground like pretending to be asleep. When Cindy comes over to help lift my legs onto the bed, Bear knows his reign is over. He moves, reluctantly, and then stares at me with a look that seems to say, “Who’s this Darth Vader guy taking my spot?” And we repeat this dance every single night.

Bear gives us pockets of lightness in the heaviness of ALS. He’s never far away (from Cindy, especially), and his happy tail is always whooshing back and forth—hopefully without knocking something off the coffee table. We love Bear, and he’s exactly the dog our home needed.

I bring him up because a couple of weeks ago I was introduced to Pete and Jenna. Pete has ALS, too. We exchanged texts, and in one of his messages he sent a photo of their goldendoodle, Gracie. (First photo below) She looked so much like Bear—it made me smile. It was another unexpected connection between us.

Then yesterday morning, Pete told me that Gracie had started throwing up and wasn’t eating. They took her to the vet to see what was going on. A few hours later, I received a message that broke my heart: Gracie had cancer pressing on her heart. And they had to make that impossible, terrible decision to let her go.

I just couldn’t believe it. I had only just “met” Pete, Jenna, and Gracie. How could they suddenly be losing their beloved dog of 13 years?

I sent my condolences, but my thoughts kept circling around the same thing:
Pete and Jenna are already living with the cruelty of ALS. They shouldn’t also have to endure this heartbreak. It’s not fair. It shouldn’t happen this way.

I’m still carrying their sadness with me this morning. Losing a family dog is losing a piece of your heart. I wish them comfort and peace as they grieve Gracie. I’m so very sorry they’re walking through such a painful moment. It’s not a memory to cherish. I’m so sorry.😢

Thanks for reading. Have a wonderful Friday.

Love you guys! ❤️