The day Lexi picked me from the shelter was unexpected. I’d driven more than an hour to the shelter to look at another dog I found online. We weren’t a good fit, but I was loathe to drive home without asking about other dogs for adoption. The shelter staff went into the back then walked out with a small, striped dog I remembered seeing on the website—a whippet mix the shelter named Jenny. “Strange looking pup” I thought as I got ready to meet her.

It was Labor Day weekend 2010 and the shelter was busy with families looking to add a furry family member. Despite being at opposite ends of a crowded, noisy room, this dog Jenny and I looked at each other and she made a beeline across the room straight to my arms. After that initial second, going to the play yard to get to know each other was just a formality; I knew she was coming home with me. I renamed her Lexi before leaving the shelter, stopped at PetSmart on the way home to buy some supplies and thus began what would be a 15-year journey with each other. The shelter gave me accolades for rescuing Lexi that afternoon. Perhaps in that moment, I did. But for the next 15 years, Lexi rescued me time and time again.

Loyalty Defined

Dogs’ loyalty is what earned canines the “man’s best friend” title. Lexi took it to a whole new level. She traversed every valley and peak with me. She drove cumulative thousands of miles between Chicagoland and western Pennsylvania as my first marriage disintegrated and I escaped back to the safety of western Pennsylvania as often as possible before officially moving back. Along with our cat at the time, Oliver, she is forever immortalized in the Cook County family court divorce records as officially and legally staying with me forever.

I never expected I’d spend a good chunk of my 30s laid up with eight hip surgeries, two elbow surgeries, plus two childbirths, one of which was an emergency C-section fraught with life-threatening medical issues. Through it all, Lexi rarely left my side. She brought me bones and lay quietly in bed with me for hours after surgeries, reading, napping, watching TV, knitting, coloring and just existing. The night before Landon was born when I was uncontrollably sick all night, she stayed up, anxious, pacing and upset as if she knew—even when we did not—that my liver and kidneys were shutting down and taking the rest of my organs with them.

Lexi was nearly 9 years old by the time Landon came around and a teenager when Bryce was born. Although she was definitely confused and perhaps even a bit put out that we brought a baby home—and then another one!—she dealt with it. The first time I took Landon to the sitter’s house Lexi rode along and when we backed out of the driveway without Landon, she whined, pranced, cried, yipped and carried on clearly afraid I had forgotten Landon. When I tried to get both boys to nap without me rocking them to sleep and let them cry in their crib for a bit, she glared at me with all the judgment she could muster.

Her loyalty showed in big ways and small. My dad was the first—and only male—Lexi loved until Brian came along. One night while I was living on the second floor at their house, my dad got up in the middle of the night and was walking around the first floor. She heard him and reportedly growled at the top of the steps, not sure what she was hearing but knowing she had to take care of me. My dad made himself known and she happily changed gears and trotted down the stairs for some middle-of-the-night pets. 

In January of 2016 when we lived in Ohio, Lexi went for a joy run in what we guess was hot pursuit of a deer. When she came home and inside, she shook herself off and sprayed blood droplets everywhere. Her left ear was the culprit, likely snagged on barbed wire fencing. When it wouldn’t stop, we took her to the vet, who cut out the damaged part of her ear, stitched the wound and sent her home. As the day progressed, Lexi deteriorated. She became listless, wouldn’t eat or drink and, most terrifying, when we urged her to get up to go outside, she couldn’t rise and when we tried to help her she collapsed. I looked in her mouth and her gums and tongue were white. We went back to the vet and somehow determined Lexi had gotten into mouse poison, which is designed to stimulate internal bleeding and make the body unable to clot blood. There was little to do and we didn’t expect her to make it through the night.

Yet the next morning she awakened. Day by day she improved. She got up, she drank, she ate. She started walking outside, eventually trotting along, then going for joy runs with a small notch missing from her ear. Our tiny striped dog who had no business surviving rodent poisoning decided to live. Despite her pain and misery in those days, she absolutely refused to die and leave me in a world without her.

Loyal.

Adventure Dog

Who knew a stray rescue mystery mutt from a Chicagoland shelter would become such an outdoor adventurer? I can’t even begin to guess the miles we hiked together. Certainly somewhere in the hundreds, and more likely north of 1,000. I enjoyed showing her McConnell’s Mill, Moraine State Park and other local trails on our Pennsylvania visits, but it wasn’t until we became Pennsylvania residents that she really took off. 

One evening we took off through Wolf Creek Nature Preserve. Lexi romped off leash in those days and happily ran through the woods. Another hiker approached from the opposite direction. We exchanged pleasantries and he laughed and said, “That dog looks like it LOVES being out here.” That was Lexi. She exuded joy, happiness and contentment and shared it freely with all she encountered.

Perhaps our most memorable hike was a day I thought we’d go for a jaunt at Hell’s Hollow, which remains a favorite trail to this day. Mile after mile passed, and before long I figured we might as well just do the entire trail—a there and back 16-mile trek. We were ill prepared. I had packed a peanut butter and banana sandwich, an apple and maybe one other food item, plus one Nalgene bottle of water. Lexi and I shared the sandwich midway through our walk. Although I hiked 16 miles, Lexi was off leash and ran back and forth and around me in circles; she must have covered at least 21 miles. Wildflowers were in full bloom, waterfalls cascading over rocks, the rapids of the Slippery Rock creek raging at some points, still and peaceful at others. Lexi fell asleep as soon as she hopped in the back seat of the car. The next morning, we both awakened visibly stiff, sore and exhilarated from the previous day’s adventure.

Lexi also accompanied us on kayaking and camping trips. Brian and I chose a three-person tent not only because we prefer to keep our packs in the tent, but also so there was space for Lexi. Brian chose a two-person kayak not only so there was space for our gear and for our eventual children, but also so there was space for Lexi. She joined us for our first anniversary trip—a three-day, two-night paddle down the Allegheny River. We camped on islands each night that she happily explored before settling into the kayak for the next day’s adventures.

Eventually Lexi stopped going for hikes. I don’t know when our final hike was, and for that I am thankful. They simply phased out as her body aged and tired. We walked plenty, but even those petered out in the final few months as her body couldn’t take it and I ended up carrying her home several times.

Brian’s Love

Lexi distrusted men for our first several years, which I attributed to a negative experience in her first year and however she came to live on the streets and experiences she had there. She didn’t care for my ex-husband (she knew before I did!), but latched onto my dad very quickly. 

Lexi and I lived with my parents when Brian and I met. Brian, the ultimate animal lover, was excited to meet Lexi, about whom he’d heard many stories. I warned him she’d likely be skittish and reluctant to approach him. When Brian came to pick me up for a date, he walked in the house, we greeted, then he got down on his knees as Lexi eyed him from down the hallway. He’d barely gotten to the floor before she ran and launched himself into his arms.

When Brian passed so suddenly, Lexi took a dramatic turn for the worse. Her anxiety heightened, she got grayer and she slowed down even more. I’ve read that dogs internalize and mirror their owner’s emotions; certainly she mirrored my own depression and anxiety, but with Lexi it was more. She truly missed Brian. She didn’t understand why he walked out the door one morning to feed the livestock and didn’t come back in. Her fur absorbed endless tears. 

As Lexi crossed the rainbow bridge this Labor Day weekend, 15 years after the Labor Day weekend we found each other, I have to believe Brian was waiting for her, crouched down, arms outstretched at the other end. And that she ran without pain, without confusion, without fear, straight into his loving arms. What a reunion.