This Dog Was Too Weak to Stand—But She Still Wagged Her Tail When She Saw Me
A red blanket was draped across the shelter kennel window—a sign that the public wasn’t meant to look inside. I’d come to learn that this usually meant something hard to see was behind it: a dog in such critical condition that they weren’t even ready to be considered for adoption.
I braced myself and walked toward the restricted section. Through the glass door, I saw her.
Curled up on a blanket and surrounded by stuffed animals, the dog looked like she might be asleep. She was grey and white—some sort of pit bull mix. Her ribs and spine were visible. Her eyes were sunken, and her skull was so pronounced that her head seemed too big for her body. She was emaciated, her skin was scabby, and her nails were long.
And yet, when she saw me, she stirred. She pushed herself up and came to the door.
Even in her condition, she wanted to say hello.
A Spirit Too Strong to Break
I brought some jerky treats and quietly entered. Valerie had returned to her blanket, resting, clearly exhausted. But when I sat down beside her and offered a treat, she lifted her head to take it gently from my hand.
She had barely enough strength to stand, but still wanted to make a friend. I sat in awe of her spirit.
Her body was failing—but her heart was open.
I thought of my own struggles, of the days when I used to leave my shoes beside the bed just so I could lace them up in the morning and keep going. Valerie was doing the same, in her way—just putting one paw in front of the other, moving forward.
From Emptiness to Hope
There was no microchip. Her collar was too big now—her neck had withered so drastically that I could fit my hand through the gap. And there was no name.
We decided to call her Valerie. It means “healthy” and “strong.” It fit perfectly.
She rested her head in my lap. When she stretched it further to sneak a treat left on the blanket, I smiled. Even now, Valerie had a spark of mischief. That told me everything I needed to know—she still had fight in her.
Valerie didn’t need my pity. She needed my presence. She needed a second chance.
A Foster Home, A Fire, and a Full Belly
We put out a call, and Lovebugs Rescue stepped up. Kelly Hammons, one of their team members, took Valerie in personally. She and her husband wrapped Valerie in blankets, dressed her in pajamas, and placed her by the fireplace. They even wheeled her on walks in a wagon, since she couldn’t walk far on her own.
She was safe. She was loved. Just like I’d imagined when I first saw her. Valerie finally knew what comfort felt like.
But sometimes, even the deepest love can’t overcome what a broken body has endured.
Saying Goodbye… Again
A few weeks into her recovery, Valerie’s gums paled. She wouldn’t get up. An emergency vet visit confirmed what we feared: a tumor had ruptured. She was bleeding internally. A blood transfusion might have bought a few hours—but not a future.
Kelly held her close. Valerie passed peacefully, wrapped in love.
“If love could have saved her,” Kelly said, “she would still be here.”
What Flip—and Valerie—Taught Me
I’ll never forget Valerie. And I’ll never stop missing Flip.
The same day I learned of Valerie’s passing, I couldn’t get anything done. But I also felt immense gratitude—for the chance to be there with her, even just for a short time. She left this world knowing warmth, safety, and affection.
I keep a drawer filled with the kennel cards of dogs we’ve lost. Each one carries a name, a face, and a moment we shared. When I look at them, I remember: they mattered. We mattered. And I’ll keep doing this work for them.
Flip Farms and a Promise
Before Flip passed, I didn’t know what to name the farm we bought. But after he was gone, the name came to me like he whispered it himself: Flip Farms. Flip Coffee. It was perfect.
Flip helped me foster dozens of dogs. He gave everything to our family. When he left, I promised him I’d do more. That’s what keeps me going. Dogs like Flip and Valerie make the world better—and it’s up to us to carry that love forward.
Love Never Leaves
If you’ve ever mourned a dog and felt like no one understood, know this: I see you. I feel it too. Your grief is not strange. It’s a testament to the love you shared.
Dogs love unconditionally. They give us everything. And when they’re gone, they’re still here—in the rain, in the sky, in the stories we tell, and in the lives we save in their honor.
So when the rain clears and a rainbow appears, I hear my daughter say, “Hey, Flip!” And I smile.
He’s still with us. Just different.
Want more stories like Valerie’s? Dive into Sitting With Dogs book and discover the dogs—and the moments—that change us. 📖🐾
