Sandy Michelet

Brody, our 90-pound chocolate lab, was a cool gentleman with a personality all his own. We met him 17 years ago and somehow convinced him to come live with us. He loved attention but wasn’t needy; he had his own agenda and his own little world to explore. He adored running, so we’d take him to the park, walk him around the neighborhood, and more. We always tried to hug him, and though he tolerated it, we knew he wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. He loved us, but always on his own terms.

As he went about his doggy business, Brody unknowingly walked alongside us through some of the most challenging moments of our lives, including my struggle with infertility. He was there from the beginning when we learned that having children wouldn’t be easy. He was there when we became hopeful, when I walked in the door after every painful test and procedure, and month after month, year after year, of agony. Brody seemed to have a sixth sense and knew when I needed a little extra love. He was there when the realization finally set in that this was never going to happen, as I moved from being someone in the throes of infertility to accepting my place as a childless woman.

My husband and I loved Brody unconditionally, and one Sunday morning, we faced the agonizing decision to help him cross the rainbow bridge. We both cried on the way to the vet and cried on the way home. When we walked in the door, we mindlessly began to pick up his things, then stood there staring at an empty house.

In the months that followed, I started to notice how quiet our home had become. But more than that, I realized how much my husband and I had tag-teamed sharing our lives with a 90-pound lab. We’d laugh at his goofy antics and constantly add to the “things that terrify Brody” list:

Turtles
Locusts (especially the dead ones; seeing a live one would stop his heart)
Rain
Thunder
Lightning
Thunder Vests—yes, I know the irony
Statues
Silver dollar leaves
All-weather furniture covers (the chairs were safe for three years...until we covered them; then they were terrifying)
Grass at night

Once Brody was gone, everything felt different. We loved him and missed him terribly, but there was an undeniable freedom in not having the responsibility of a dog. With Craig getting close to retirement, we were planning to travel, and we knew it would be difficult with a pup. Yet, despite that freedom, I felt a deep emptiness...

Then, one day, a friend asked us to watch her goldendoodle puppy for the weekend. Neither of us had ever seen or heard of a goldendoodle before, but we quickly discovered the adorableness that was about to take over our lives. Without diving into all the back-and-forth, in September of that same year, we adopted Ryder, a “mini” doodle. For two months before his arrival, Craig and I researched doodles online, wandered around pet stores, and discussed all the things we’d do with him. We worried if it was too soon after losing Brody and questioned whether we were somehow discounting our love for him by bringing another dog into “his” home.

But we kept talking about how much Brody would have loved a puppy, and so we brought Ryder home. A few weeks later, we hosted a “come meet Ryder” open house, and 52 people showed up...and stayed. It was amazing. Ryder was carefully passed around, snuggled by everyone, with quick pictures snapped as they enjoyed that coveted puppy breath. Dogs truly have a way of bringing people together.

Since then, we’ve searched for restaurants and venues that allow pets so we can bring Ryder everywhere we go. He has a ‘go bag’ ready at all times. He’s slept in hotel rooms with us (he’s not a fan of elevators), traveled to visit family, and has thoroughly enjoyed his first four years of life. Unlike Brody, Ryder is EXTREMELY high maintenance. He follows us everywhere, paws at us if we aren’t giving him enough attention, and knows exactly how to use those human-like eyes to manipulate even the most immune. He’s a doggy rockstar.

Dogs aren’t babies, and babies aren’t dogs. For obvious reasons, I don’t believe you can replace one with the other. But there’s no denying the love, purpose, and joy that both bring. In my case, I didn’t want a dog to fill the need for a baby. I wanted a dog to fill the gaping hole that existed after we lost Brody. Ryder has filled that hole (and more) with his personality, his human eyes, and his smooshy face. And even though he couldn’t be an emotional support animal because he needs his own, he has definitely filled our home with love and life again.