Hammie was always "my" dog.

In my “past life” I was an Animal Health Technologist and Dog Behaviouralist. Which is a fancy way of saying, I was an animal nurse and got to play with puppies all day. For the most part, I loved my job, but there was always something nagging at me under the surface. Something that never quite fit properly. I would bounce from job to job, trying to figure it out but eventually, the pattern of burnout would repeat itself and I would quit finding something else.

The last time I quit was five years ago. I had been training therapy dogs and in the start-up phase of breeding a line of Labradors that were perfect for the life of service. I spent hours online emailing and talking to breeders all over North America, searching for the perfect temperament.

After months of searching, I found a breeder in Utah with dogs that were perfect. They were White Labs, quiet, smart, eager to please, and as if perfectly divined the breeder was expecting a litter any day.

Waiting for "my" puppy was like waiting for a pot to boil for three months but finally, the day arrived that we picked up “our” puppy from the airport. I say “our” puppy because technically I already had a home for this pup. He was not mine, nor ever going to be mine, but I loved him all the same.

He had a black nose, rolls of soft white fur, and dark sad eyes that spoke straight into your soul. When he sat, he tucked his hips forward and his belly would poke out, shameless, from behind his front legs, round and jolly. Almost as if to challenge you not to smile at his cuteness. His name was Hamilton.

All I wanted to do was cuddle him and play with him but being a service puppy meant that he had rules. He couldn’t “play” like the other puppies, he had to work, learn and obey. Only when he was “off duty” could he play like the other puppies.

He had to learn how to be calm at all times so that he could be the service dog that his owner needed him to be. His owner was a young boy with Autism, who needed a safe and calm nature to support him.

Hamilton spent the next six months in my care. I would take him everywhere. We would go to the grocery store, the coffee shops, and my home. He would put himself to bed at 8:30 pm every night, crawling exhausted into his kennel, trying to stay awake but falling over in a slump. He was a part of our family.

Though I loved working with Hamilton, the ache in my heart became too loud and when he was nine months old I left my job to start something new. I trusted that he would be taken care of by my replacement and wished him and his real family all the best.

I had no idea that following my heart, would lead me back to Hamilton.

I began my journey doing the only thing that I knew made my heart happy, walking dogs. Soon though, this led me to teaching dog behavior and helping people ease anxiety in their family pets. Over time a common theme became obvious to me, I could calm and train the dog, but unless the family changed their habits and levels of anxiety the dog would just revert back to being anxious.

Dogs are reflectors, so if your dog is showing signs of anxiety, aggression, or imbalance it is a sign to look within and see where you are feeling this way as well.

Slowly I began to pivot my path and I became a coach, mentor, and holistic guide. As many paths do, it had bends and turns but over time I became more and more aligned with what was truly in my heart. I began working towards building the life I wanted and that included having a dog.

I began thinking about Hamilton and finding a dog like him. Fate though would have it a different way. After two years of training the worst outcome happened, Hamilton did not pass his certification test. Devastated his owner reached out to me for support, she needed to re-home Hamilton and find a service dog fast!

After two years of training, she had invested a large sum into the training of Hamilton. I offered to find her the right home so that she would feel the exchange was right, but again fate had other plans. Only months later she got a call that would change everything. She was to receive a fully trained and certified service dog for her son, the catch was Hamilton had to be re-homed right away.

She was desperate to find him a place to live, and not just any place, his forever home. She came to me with an offer.

She said, “I know you love him, if you promise to pass on the kindness one day you can have him.”

My heart jumped, and so did my doubt.

“Could I have a big dog?”

“Would he fit into my family?”

My heart screamed “YES!”

A week later, I drove the five hours to pick him up. The whole way there I thought about how lucky my kids were to be getting this gift. I thought about how grateful I was to be able to give Hamilton a home.

We met on a cold day in November, Hamilton knew who I was right away. He wiggled and weaved his way around my legs. He was no longer the small pup but a hundred pounds of a solid mature lab. We talked for a while before I loaded him in the back of my hair-free car, (The hair is a story for another time.) Hamilton jumped in willingly.

Saying our goodbyes I began the journey home again thinking about how blessed my kids were to have such an amazing dog. Just as I thought this, he popped his head over the back seat and our eyes locked in the rearview mirror. I will never forget that moment.

I knew in my heart that he was there for me, he was there to teach me about so many things but most of all he was there to teach me, unconditional love. My boy had come home, my angel, my best friend.

In the years that we have had together since, Hammie (as he is affectionally known now, has been with me every step of the way. Thought the ups and downs, the sickness and health.

He has taught me acceptance. How to let go of how I think things should be and to let them be what they are. He is a big hairy, sometimes stinky, rolly bundle of joy. He has taught me to love and to be open to love even when it is hard. Every day his snores would give my Grand Pa a run for his money, I find his hair in everything and I smile, for without him my life would be a fraction of what it is today.

Sometimes when he sits watching me cook dinner he leans against the wall, tilts his hips back and his belly falls forward with no shame and it is the most beautiful and joyous thing.