I have a confession to make.
I really don’t like having a dog. Or a cat. Or any pet, for that matter.
There. I said it.
It’s not that I dislike animals. I think they’re adorable. I love seeing other people’s pets. I’ll happily admire pictures, laugh at funny videos, and tell someone how cute their furry family member is.
But the daily responsibility? The feeding. The letting out. The barking. The constant “please don’t eat that.” The fact that another living creature depends on me every single day? It’s just not really my thing.
And yet…
I love my boy, Percy.
And I lovingly tolerate my daughter’s cat, Natasha.
Because sometimes life has a funny way of giving you something you never thought you wanted and turning it into something you can’t imagine living without.
A Little Percy History
Percy is a Jack Russell Terrier mix. Mixed with what? I have absolutely no idea. He’s a rescue, and honestly, I think that’s part of what makes him so special.
He was found wandering the streets of Chicago’s South Side by a friend of a friend’s husband. We know he’d been abused, although we’ll probably never know exactly what happened to him. When he came to us, he was about two and a half years old and had already experienced more than any dog ever should.
But he also found something else.
He finally found safety.
We got Percy as a “trial run” dog.
Yes, you read that correctly.
A trial run.
He was originally supposed to be a companion for my mom. He also had an important second job: serving as our furry back-door alarm system.
For a while, that’s exactly what he was.
Then something happened that none of us expected.
Eight years ago, we lost my mom.
And somehow, Percy chose me.
I don’t really know how else to explain it. After she was gone, he became attached to me. I became his person.
He became My Pal Percy.
Of course, when he first came to live with us, I had rules.
No furniture.
No sleeping in my room.
He had a perfectly good dog bed on the floor.
Percy apparently thought my list was more of a suggestion.
He never climbed onto the furniture while my mom was alive, but somehow we’d always come home to suspiciously warm couch cushions. There was never any eyewitness testimony, but the evidence was overwhelming.
Eventually, he trained me out of that rule.
Then he tackled the bedroom.
I was determined.
“No, Percy. You are not sleeping on my bed.”
Percy disagreed.
He wanted to be in my room—and only my room. After several nights of determined pacing, sighing, and making sure neither of us got much sleep, I finally surrendered.
He won.
He’s been sleeping on my bed ever since.
Honestly, I’m still not sure exactly when the training reversed and I became the one being trained.
The Smartest Little Supervisor
Percy is incredibly smart.
He has different barks for different situations, and believe me, once you’ve lived with him long enough, you know exactly what each one means. His bark has the unique ability to startle you into next Tuesday.
He’s also become the unofficial star of countless Amazon proof-of-delivery photos because apparently no package can be left safely on the porch without his personal supervision.
But my favorite thing about Percy isn’t how smart he is.
It’s that he’s become part of our family’s story.
On February 19, 2025, Percy suddenly found himself competing for my attention.
My granddaughter, Sophia, arrived.
At first, Percy wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this tiny new human. He gave her a good sniff and apparently decided she smelled a little suspicious.
Sophia, on the other hand, was completely enchanted.
She loves petting his ears. She thinks he’s hilarious. They chase each other around the house while she giggles nonstop.
Percy mostly humors her.
Until he’s done.
Let’s remember, he’s almost eleven years old now. When he’s reached his limit, he gives us a gentle growl—a polite little announcement that says, “I’ve enjoyed our visit, tiny human, but I’d now like to resume my regularly scheduled nap.”
Honestly?
I respect that.
He’s patient. He’s gentle.
He’s simply the best boy.
The best dog I’ve ever known.
And he’ll almost certainly be my last dog.
Not because I don’t love him.
But because I know I’ll never find another Percy.
My Pal Percy
I think sometimes God gives us gifts we never think to ask for.
Percy was never on my list.
I wasn’t looking for a dog. I wasn’t hoping for a companion. I certainly wasn’t dreaming about sharing my bed with a fifteen-pound furry alarm clock who believes every Amazon delivery requires his immediate supervision.
But God knew.
He knew I’d need him.
He knew there would be quiet days when grief felt especially heavy. He knew there would be moments when the house seemed too still. He knew I needed a little shadow following me from room to room, a warm body curled up beside me, and countless reasons to laugh.
Love doesn’t always arrive the way we expect.
Sometimes it has four paws.
Sometimes it snores.
Sometimes it steals your spot on the bed.
Sometimes it becomes My Pal Percy.
Someday, I know the hardest part will be saying goodbye. I don’t like to think about that day, so instead I choose to be grateful for today.
For every wagging tail.
Every funny little habit.
Every bark that makes me jump.
Every look that tells me I’m the most important person in his world.
Because to Percy, I am.
And maybe that’s the greatest gift of all.
Not that I rescued him.
But that somewhere along the way…
He rescued me.
