Having a bull terrier is a spiritual practice.
A daily test I often fail.
First there was Rini.
My sweet girl always minding other people’s business!
My husband Dan and I adopted Rini (our first bully) somewhat on a whim. We had brief conversations about wanting a dog, but nothing was decided. Then one day, her sweet face came across Dan’s Facebook and both of us knew she was the one. During the first few minutes of our meet and greet, she won us over with her spunky, curious nature. She was so charming and adorable. As a true bull terrier, she had her little quirks—endlessly expressive when her needs were not met and stubborn to the bone when she didn’t get the level of attention she wanted, with more always being better.
Inside the home, she was tender, playful, and always down for a good nap. When outdoors, she was fearless and curious, chasing the squirrels away and jumping into any bush that had something interesting going on.
I felt such a deep connection to her.
Her presence felt like an invitation to slow down and fully appreciate the moment. Every morning without fail, when she had enough of lazy lounging in her bed, she moseyed over to my room and kept me company during my morning coffee. Just two old souls cuddled up in silence and staring into the trees. She would gaze into my eyes as if expressing gratitude for giving her a loving home and the life she deserved. I felt like she chose us to be her family, to be the ones who would get the gift of her tender presence in her last days. My sweet Lina (Lina was one of her many nicknames).
Unexpectedly, one morning, nine months after adopting her, Rini came to my room as usual but it quickly became obvious that something was very wrong. After rushing from our vet to the emergency vet in hopes of getting to the bottom of what was going on, we discovered she had cancer. That very same day, we had to say goodbye forever.
Letting her go so abruptly was incredibly painful. Our house felt quiet and empty without her playful energy. No more grunting and random complaints from my sweet girl.
She entered our life suddenly, gave us so much love and joy in such a short time, and left.
Then there was River.
Few months later, not fully over Rini’s grief, I was adamant about adopting another dog. Looking back, it might have been premature wanting to fill the void and mend my broken heart, but I felt I had so much more love and care to give. Plus our time with Rini was cut so short that I felt prepared to jump into a dog mom role right away.
Oh boy, was I wrong! Nothing could prepare me for the wild-hearted River the Queen!
From the first day, it became obvious that our experience with River will be very different. She kept us on our toes from the get-go. Literally from the first ride home, when she managed to claw through a ginormous bag of food and forced us to make a stop and rearrange the car. We quickly realized she was far from being the “couch potato” as described by people at the shelter.
Rough around the edges and not having learned her manners quite yet, she wasn’t settling in as easily as we hoped. She didn’t care much about impressing us or being agreeable. Full of energy and opinions it seemed as though she wanted to do the exact opposite of what we planned. She required our full attention.
The first three months were mentally stressful and more times than I can count I seriously questioned my own judgment for jumping into this so soon. River came to shake things up and stretch our comfort zone.
“We just need to be patient” was our daily mantra. “It’s just a phase” we kept rationalizing it.
Well, definitely wasn’t a phase.
Almost four years later, it’s clear—this is who she is. An unpredictable River. One that makes us feel alive and awake.
Queening so hard and recovering from self-created drama.
She has her quiet, gentle moments but out of nowhere, she can be demanding and stubborn until she gets what she wants. She regularly stops in the middle of walks and lies down, completely disinterested in my agenda. Unaware that I’m in a rush and need to get to my list of tasks. No matter how inconvenient it may be for those around her, she is unapologetic about her wants and needs. She will fearlessly get into a power struggle almost always coming out of it as a winner.
She came a looong way since those first days. But in so many ways she hasn’t changed that much. She is still ungovernable, mischievous, and strong-willed. She is still just as opinionated as that first day. And also, she is tender and so so loving. With no regard for personal space, she will snuggle up so closely that it melts my heart every single time she does.
Having River in our life changed us.
We can now laugh at her quirks and goofiness instead of expecting her to be anything other than herself. Her presence feels like a constant spiritual practice. A daily test in patience, lightheartedness, and letting go. A constant reminder that we’re not in control of what we get but how we interact with what we get. An open invitation to squeeze the joy out of every moment and not take things so seriously. To put our agendas aside and do what the moment needs.
Admittedly, it’s a practice I haven’t fully mastered yet. But one that I will keep practicing. I will keep showing up every day and doing my best for my sweet girl.
I often think, “Maybe this is my purpose—being here to make her life better and loving her unconditionally, making sure she never again feels neglected, unsafe, and mistreated.”
When I look at her living her best life, being all cozy in the pile of pillows, or when she snuggles up with us in the morning, my heart overflows with joy and gratitude.
It’s the best.
Cappuccinos are my creative currency! ☕️