Have you ever sworn you were not getting another dog and then immediately got another dog?
Have you ever said, “I’m just going to look,” and somehow left with a whole new responsibility?
Have you ever met a creature for five minutes and realized your life was never going to be the same?
Yeah. Same.
Today is my baby girl Biscuit’s birthday. She turned one year old today, and I cannot believe how fast time moves when your heart is involved. One minute they are a tiny loaf with paws, the next minute they are a full-blown personality with opinions, confidence, and very strong feelings about food.
Biscuit did not come into my life the way most dogs do. There was no scrolling, no endless searching, no checklist of what I wanted. She found me when I was not even looking. And honestly, that feels very on brand for my life.
I remember being at visitation to see Stephen, and they had this dog program. They would bring dogs in to showcase them for adoption. Every time a dog walked in, my inner child took over. I would pet every single one. No discrimination. Big dogs. Small dogs. Calm dogs. Chaotic dogs. If it had fur, I was emotionally invested.
I did not have a specific dog in mind. I just knew I wanted another female dog for Tofu. Something about balance. Also, Tofu needed a girlfriend because clearly I was not enough attention for him.
Then one day, this tiny eight-week-old puppy came in.
Before I even noticed her, one of the inmates from a different yard yelled over to Stephen, telling him to come see this puppy. Stephen walked over, and suddenly all the inmates were like, “This one is yours.”
Not politely. Not gently. Just declared.
Stephen called me and said the inmates were losing their minds over this puppy and wanted her to go home with me. I asked him the most important question in any adoption process. “Do you like her?” He said yes.
That was it. That was the vetting process.
When I finally met her, I was not planning on adding another dog to the family. I was just meeting her. Just saying hi. Just casually holding a puppy that would permanently alter my emotional state.
She was confident. Loving. Chunky in the best way. The kind of chunky that feels like safety. I was told she went to each prisoner and gave them love. She cuddled them. Kissed them. Sat with them. No fear. No hesitation. Just pure presence.
Every prisoner said the same thing. She was special.
They said she showed unconditional love. They said she blessed them. And let me tell you, when a group of grown men who have seen life say, “This dog changed something in me,” you listen.
I knew in my heart she belonged with us.
When it was time for her to leave, many of the inmates cried. Grown men crying over a tiny puppy. They told me she had brought light into a very dark place. That she reminded them what love feels like without conditions.
If that does not humble you, nothing will.
When Biscuit came home, Tofu was not immediately thrilled. He looked at her like, “So this is how it ends.” He was sad. Suspicious. Slightly dramatic. He followed me around like he was checking to see if I still loved him.
After a few weeks, it clicked. He realized he was not being replaced. He was being upgraded to husband.
Now they are inseparable. The daycare tells me Tofu is extremely protective of her. He gives her kisses every morning like it is part of his routine. If she moves, he moves. If she naps, he naps. If she eats, he supervises.
She is very sweet with the cats. Respectful. Gentle. Patient. Even though it has been a year, the cats are still adjusting. They are not afraid of her. They just act like roommates who did not agree to the lease.
I love having Biscuit as the newest addition to our family. She keeps Tofu occupied. She keeps me company. She is my cuddle buddy at night. She is warmth and comfort and chaos all wrapped into one small body.
But here is the part no one warned me about.
She farts.
A lot.
Loud. Aggressive. Smelly farts. The kind that make you question what you fed her, even when you know exactly what you fed her. She will be asleep, peaceful, angelic, and then suddenly the room is under attack.
She will look at me like I did it.
But even that feels fitting. Because love is not just cuddles and kisses. Love is staying when things get uncomfortable. Love is choosing grace when the room smells like regret.
Watching Biscuit grow this year has reminded me of something important. Love changes us. Sometimes quickly. Sometimes quietly. Sometimes through tiny moments we did not plan for.
This dog came from a prison visiting room and somehow managed to teach so many people about unconditional love. Inmates. My husband. Me. Even Tofu.
Life is funny like that.
We think we choose things, but sometimes the right things choose us.
The lesson I am learning, and maybe you need to hear it too, is this. Do not ignore the moments that feel small. Do not underestimate the impact of showing up with love. Do not harden your heart because the world has been hard to you.
Sometimes healing shows up as a tiny puppy who just wants to cuddle and remind you that love still exists.
Happy birthday, my beautiful Biscuit. You were a gift before I even knew I needed one.
Remember you are my lovers, whether you love me or love to hate me you are still my lover!
Don’t forget Jesus loves you and so do I!