I’ve shared this story before, but it’s worth revisiting.
December 2012: I was unemployed in Southeast Alabama and felt like I had nowhere to turn. My self-worth was at an all-time low, and on one particularly cold morning, I drove to a lock and dam on the Chattahoochee River. I watched the water surge, contemplating choices that might have taken me far from where I am today.
Considering how dangerous that water looked, that might have ended my mortal story…you feel me?
As I sat in my car and watched the water, I felt an urge — almost like an external force — to grab a yellow notepad on the front seat of my car and start writing a to-do list. It was almost as if that external force was guiding the pen, and not my hand. The list was simple but profound:
- Get into therapy.
- Get a job.
- Look into the life coach I’d started following.
This became my roadmap. By February, I found a therapist. By June, I was working again. And the following February, I hired my first coach. Little did I know, these steps were just the beginning of a journey that would lead me to one of the greatest companions of my life.
As I started working with my coach, I started getting another intuitive nudge. I felt an undeniable pull to adopt a dog. I had a sense that this connection would help stabilize me, give me something to care for — a reason to keep going when life felt unsteady.
It would give me something to live for.
On February 17, 2014, I walked into the Wiregrass Humane Society in Dothan, Alabama. I’d been there before but had never felt a connection with any of the animals. That day was different. There he was: a big, goofy, solid white ball of energy. His name was Pete. When I reached my hand into his cage, he sniffed it, and I felt something click.
It was a spark of connection.
“I think I want to take this guy for a walk.”
“That’s Pete,” the staff said. “He’s a handful.” And he was — joyfully so. But from that day forward, I never looked back.
Pete became my rock, a constant source of joy.
A few months after adopting him, I was laid off again. I’d just started to get back on my feet, and suddenly, I was knocked down. The news was not unexpected, but the news still took me out.
After taking the call with the bad news, I remember sitting in my living room, feeling the weight of it all, when Pete looked up at me with his almost human-like brown eyes. He started tugging at the leg of my pants. He grabbed a ball, barked, and looked toward the back door.
“Okay…I see…”
We went outside, and he chased that ball with a passion — though he never quite grasped the concept of bringing it back.
But his comfort didn’t stop at just those small moments. In December of that same year, my dad’s health declined rapidly, and he ultimately passed away. I received the phone call that Dad’s time was near at around 3:00 AM. Pete was so confused why I was letting him outside at 3:30. The look on his face as he watched me pull away, I will never forget it. His heart was breaking but he didn’t know why.
The week after Dad died and before his funeral, Pete never left my side. He’d press his giant, granite head into my lap as I cried, licking away my tears. That was the first time I truly felt he had saved my life.
Over the years, Pete became a constant presence, a grounding force who reminded me how to live in the moment. He showed me that love didn’t need words; it’s found in companionship, loyalty, and patience. More than anything, I think Pete showed me how to love myself. He taught me that I could keep going, no matter what.
On November 4, 2024, Pete’s mortal story came to an end. He’d developed congestive heart failure, and his time had come. I was fortunate to walk with him one last time, even though his strength was failing. His legs gave out, his breathing grew shallow, and I knew he was in his final page.
When we got back inside, he stayed on my bed. I had to lift him onto my bed, as he was unable to jump. He couldn’t catch his breath or get comfortable.
I got an intuitive hit that he might’ve been hanging on just for me. And I wanted to give him some space to let nature take its course.
I left to do a couple of loads of laundry. And when I came back, he was gone. His lifeless body, blocking the front door.
In a way, I’m grateful.
I slept maybe 90 minutes that night, tears in my eyes and guilt weighing heavy on my soul.Had I missed signs? Had I let him suffer? But in my heart, I know that Pete knew nothing but love. He had lived a full, joyful life, right by my side.
Pete and Human…we made one hell of a team.
What is Pete’s legacy? I believe that’s yet to be seen.
He carried secrets only he and God knew. He was there for every hardship, every tear, and every small victory. He taught me how to be a man, to live in the moment, and to offer and accept unconditional love.
Run free, Pete. There are generations of Hall family dogs and cats waiting to greet you on the other side. Even though you and Huck never got along, I believe he was happy to see you. Cotton was well before your time, but I believe she would have loved you. And I believe without any hesitation that you and Bailey are now fast friends.
In closing, I want to share this passage from the Rainbow Bridge poem. I’ll link that in this piece. But I wanted to quote this one stanza directly:
“You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.”
Pete: I know I’ll see you again. I know we’ll meet again. I’ll adopt again. I’ll love another dog again.
But there’s only one first. My first adult dog.
For everything, I thank you. Your mortal story may be complete, but your story will never be complete. Ryan the author is going to see to that.
You were my life saver. And I will miss you until the day we see each other again.
See you on the dark side of the moon, buddy.
