Cher, the Dog Who Saved Me
I adopted Cher in August 2022.
But before I dive into that story, I’ve got to back up…
Let me tell you how I met a friend who became a sister.
We met in 2018 on a bachelorette trip for one of our mutual friends. The bride-to-be wanted all her girls to come together and meet before the big day.
Here’s the twist: The bride and I had been inseparable since seventh grade – best friends through middle and high school. But after my freshman year, I moved away, and she moved in.
When I met her in St. Louis, it felt like reconnecting with an old friend, even though we’d never met before. We clicked immediately. The connection was effortless. Solid. Instant.
Fast forward two years: we moved into a cute little house in the suburbs with another roommate and a dog.
March 2020.
Right before Covid hit.
(That saga? Coming...eventually)
We rode out lockdown in that house, learning how to live together through uncertainty, grief, and all the weirdness of that year. Eventually, the time came for our next chapter as bestie-roomies – a DC apartment, city-girl style.
I was so excited. So ready. A new city. A fresh start.
And, unknowingly, the chapter where I’d meet the being who would end up saving me.
Summer 22 was a rough one.
But also one I will cherish forever.
That spring, on another bachelorette trip – this time with my college girlfriends – I combusted.
I erupted.
I said the things I’d been holding in for years.
And I severed ties with friends I thought would be in my life forever.
Summer 22 was spent at the pool, lounging of course, hanging out with friends, and going inward. Diving deep into all of the emotions and feelings I had been avoiding for so long.
And then came Cher.
Not suddenly, but right on time.
All summer, I kept saying I wanted a dog.
I missed living with one – the presence, the routine, the joy.
And I had this gut feeling: It’s time.
My friend turned-sister-turned-roommate saw an Instagram post from Humane Rescue Alliance.
They were doing a name-your-price adoption special.
I texted my people: Come with me to look at dogs. Just look.
No commitment. No expectations.
(One of my cute little quirks? Fear of commitment. And a dog? That’s major.)
But what I was really looking for wasn’t just a dog.
I was looking for something.
Something to care for.
Something to anchor me.
Something that would help me keep choosing life.
And then I saw her.
Behind a plexiglass wall stood a strong, calm pittie mix named Brownie, with the most soulful eyes I’d ever seen.
She passed my dad’s “calm test” (whatever that was).
We drove home tossing name ideas around, already half in love.
That night, I sat on my couch and cried.
Because I knew.
She was mine.
And I was hers.
Two days later, I drove back to the shelter, signed the adoption papers, and walked out with a free dog.
(It was the end of the day, the staff was overwhelmed, they forgot to ask me to name my price. Lucky me.)
I named her Cher because:
She’s iconic.
I believe in life after love.
“Mom, I am a rich man,” – Cher.
What happened next?
Our first days together.
Her healing.
My unraveling.
That’s when the real story began.
Until next time,
XOXO Lucy
