Finding the right dog doesn’t just happen overnight. You think about the kind of dog that fits your life, your family, your pace. You look into breeds, then breeders, hoping to find one that truly cares about their dogs. And then you wait – hoping the timing works out, that a litter comes along, and that one of them somehow becomes yours.

The papillon was my pick.

We got our first papillon, Truman, from a terrific breeder in Northeast Ohio. I remember the drive – your grandma and I up front, Oliver in his carseat in the back, sick and throwing up more than once. Not exactly the smoothest trip. But bringing Truman home was worth every minute.

When Truman passed unexpectedly, it left a hole I couldn’t fill. And I tried to be honest with myself about that – I wasn’t looking to replace him, just to fill the space that suddenly felt so empty.

That’s when I found a breeder in Texas.

Petunia was her given name. The breeder described her as the runt – timid, just five pounds. But something about her felt perfect.

The process, as always, was thorough. Applications, questions about our home, our routines, you boys, work schedules – everything. Good breeders are careful and care deeply about where their dogs go. The pickier they are, the better.

I remember the exact moment I was approved.

I had just dropped Oliver off at school and was driving toward Broad Ripple when I got the news I’d been waiting for.

I pulled over onto a side street a couple roads south of the duplex and parked. I said a quiet prayer, then took a breath.

And just like that, she was ours.

It felt like something settled in me. A calm, full kind of happiness. I had no idea in that moment that it would turn into nearly 18 years with one of the most meaningful companions of my life.

Several weeks later, we went to the airport to pick her up – at the arrivals area where packages come in. I’ll never forget that moment. Do you remember peeking into her crate for the first time?

She was tucked into the back, small and quiet, probably shaken from the trip.

We brought her home, and slowly, she emerged. She stepped out into the living room of our house on Sand Dollar, cautiously taking it all in. 

From there, she didn’t just fill the hole Truman left – she expanded our lives.

To keep her safe, I bought a dog purse and carried her everywhere for two years. And I mean everywhere.

I was just as determined when it came to potty training. Daddy was working in Key Largo at the time, and it was a winter with a lot of snow. I remember shoveling, then taking her out every two hours – often having to clear a path again just so she could walk and go.

It wasn’t easy, but Truman had struggled with it, and I wanted it to go differently this time. So I stayed consistent with her right from the start.

And it paid off. From then on, she just knew. Say “go potty,” and she’d run out, go right away, and come happily bouncing back in.

She was a dream.

But more than that, she became part of everything.

She traveled to Key Largo, Disney World, Anna Maria Island, Chicago, Miami, Myrtle Beach, and Rome, Georgia – to name a few. She came to school activities, golf matches, soccer games, dance events, errands, and Starbucks for pup cups. She napped with us, swam with us, worked alongside us, walked with us, and listened – always listened – when I needed someone.

She had a way of slipping into everyday life so easily it felt like she’d always been part of it. Whether we were out shopping or just going about our day, she’d stay tucked in her bag, quiet and completely content. Often, she’d lift her head and take it all in. And once someone noticed her, it was always the same – comments about how well-behaved she was, how beautiful she was.

Or leaping out in a dressing room and once sneaking under the divider wall into the next stall (luckily it was empty). Sitting with dad and I at Raglan Road at Disney Springs, where the server was kind enough to let her stay. Flying like a seasoned traveler. And car rides – she loved them. Making that 20-hour drive to Key Largo over and over again, curled up between us in her little bed.

She brought a steadiness to our lives. A quiet presence that made everything feel a little more grounded, a little more complete.

And then there were moments like this one that stuck.

One day, when Elliot was little, we were walking Petunia in Key Largo. He was in the stroller as we passed a neighbor’s house with a boat sitting in the driveway. And he said, “That’s the dirtiest boat my never did see!”

The grammar was all wrong – which is exactly what made it so funny and so memorable.

Somehow, that line stuck. It became one of those little family phrases Dad and I would use again and again. And of course, we turned it into something for Petunia: “You’re the prettiest puppy my never did see!”

I must have said that to her hundreds of times over the years – you probably heard me say it more than once.

And she was. Truly the prettiest puppy. So photogenic – she’d look straight into the camera, like she was looking right through you. Such a sweet, happy, perfect little girl.

I never took that for granted. I knew what she was to me.

She carried me through more than I probably ever said out loud. And I hope – truly – that she felt even a fraction of the love I had for her.

Do you remember how we used to celebrate her birthday on April 8? Somehow, along the way, that became her day. But this year I realized her actual birthday is April 3.

So today, she turns 18.

We’ll celebrate both days – because that feels exactly right for her.

I know she was my best friend, but she was yours too. You loved her well. You cared for her, played with her, and included her in everything. And I’m grateful you grew up with her in your lives. Watching that relationship – between the five of us (and then six when Tallulah came along) – was one of the quiet joys of motherhood for me.

She didn’t just fit into our lives.

She helped shape them.

So, here’s to you, Petunia.

Happy Birthday, pretty girl. ❤️