Healing: How Becoming a Rescue Dog Mom Helped me Redirect Heartbreak

I didn’t expect healing to look like muddy paw prints on the floor, loud barks at strangers, or food insecurity. I didn’t know that it would mean loving two beautiful dogs who had never been taught what safe love was.
But here we are. Two kids and two dogs. With a full house and full hearts. 

We recently welcomed another rescue dog into our home, our second from the Regina Humane Society.
Zoe is excitable, reactive, and a misunderstood sweetheart. Just like our first, Onyx.

For years, I carried the ache of loving someone I couldn’t save.
My dad’s addiction has been one of the deepest heartbreaks of my life. And while I’ve written about it, cried about it, and tried to process it in a hundred different ways, there’s one truth I kept coming back to: I can't rescue someone who doesn’t want to be rescued.

Letting go of that fantasy was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Because loving someone through addiction teaches you to fight, to hold on, to hope even when it’s breaking your heart over and over and over.
But that kind of love, the kind that constantly breaks your heart, needed somewhere new to land.
And that’s when the dogs came into our lives.

Both of our dogs are border collie mixes.

Both are reactive.

Both came with baggage.

They’re loud. They bark first and ask questions never. They’ve been misunderstood. 

Zoe doesn’t trust that she’ll be fed again. She’s tense and her eyes follow every movement toward the kitchen. You can tell she’s had to scrap for her meal before. Onyx doesn’t trust men right away, he always barks at men he’s never met before. But he also accepts quickly the minute he’s shown gentleness. 

I watched both of them sit at the shelter for over a month without being adopted. Once we brought Onyx home and learned the truth that behind the “aggressive” first impression was a total sweetheart I couldn’t stop thinking about the other dogs just like him. Dogs who only needed someone to look past the noise long enough to see the heart underneath.

And I relate to this on more than just a dog mom level, I’ve lived this life with my own kids as well. 

Because don’t we as humans need the same thing sometimes?

And then I thought… maybe Onyx needs a friend who gets him. Another dog who understands what it’s like to be misread, to carry fear like armor, to have the kind of energy that makes people back away instead of lean in.

We can’t take him to dog parks. Street introductions to new dogs are nerve-wracking. He just wants to play, but he doesn’t know how to show it.

But they are also full of heart. Full of love and the kind of snuggles that melt every wall you’ve built. And BOTH of them are the gentle giants, patient and calm with our kids. 

The first time Zoe and Onyx met, it was like they recognized something in each other instantly.

Like they looked at each other and thought: “Ah—you’ve been through it too, haven’t you?”

Two misunderstood souls, finding safety in each other. And somehow, in us too.

And that? That cracked something open in me.

This isn’t about saving anyone.
This is about showing up consistently for those who’ve never known safety before. 

It’s about helping them unlearn fear.
It’s about letting them take up space.
It’s about creating a life where love isn’t earned—it’s just given, freely, and without conditions.

These dogs may never be “easy” dogs, and I’m okay with that.
Because I’m no longer looking for easy. If easy was what I was going for, my heart wouldn’t have been pulling me to bring Onyx and Zoe home.
I’m looking for real.

And healing doesn’t always look like soft music and long walks. Sometimes, it looks like being barked at by a dog who’s terrified of the world, but slowly learning to wag their tail when they see you.

I didn’t become a dog mom to fix anything.
But loving them like really loving them, with all their messiness has reminded me that there’s still so much beauty in giving others a safe place to land.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what I needed too.