🐾 In Memory of Zoe

A once-in-a-lifetime dog who left a lasting mark on our home.

How Zoe Came To Us
We had been thinking about adopting a dog for quite a while. My husband had been nudging me toward the idea for several years, and I finally decided I was ready too.

We started looking at local rescues, and one little face on the SCARS webpage was too cute to say no to.  I sent in an application, and three days later we were approved.

We made the two-hour drive to her foster home and were brought into a room where Momma and her nine surviving babies were all playing and being silly. We were told she was born in September 2015 and spent her first days in the wild with her mom and 10 siblings, living off garbage at the dump. She was brought into the rescue’s care, and her mom was caught two days later.

Momma came right over and nuzzled into my arm. She was a lovely girl, but we had our hearts set on a puppy.

Carrie (as she was named at the time) wanted nothing to do with us. She just wanted to go back to her bed and have a nap. She was the only pup with copper-red fur. The rest were black and tan or black and white.

Sitting in that room with ten dogs and being asked to “pick one” felt impossible—how do you choose just one?  In the end, we went with our initial feeling and signed the paperwork for Carrie.

Waiting for Home
She wasn’t ready to come home yet. She still needed a few more weeks with her mom and siblings, plus her spay and vaccines. Honestly, I was grateful for the time—we didn’t have a single thing ready for a puppy.

Bringing Zoe Home
At the end of November, on a cold, dark, blizzardy night, we drove to meet her foster and bring our puppy home.  I was so incredibly excited.  We had picked out the perfect name—Zoe. We thought it was original and wouldn’t be too common at the dog park. In the end, we were right—there were only ever a handful of other Zoes.

Learning as We Went
We brought Zoe home and started crate training.  It went… badly.
We had never done this before. I had never had a puppy, and she absolutely hated it. She would eventually settle, but not before crying, shaking, and drooling.  Our puppy classes didn’t start for another three weeks, so we were figuring it out as we went.

A friend came by during the day to let her out, and Zoe developed a deep love for them. If she saw them or even heard their voice, she would leap to them. It was so sweet.

Eventually, things settled and we found our rhythm.

The Great Crate Escape
One day, when Zoe was about five months old, I came home to find her sitting on the couch.  Considering I had left her in the crate that morning—with a treat—I was more than a little surprised.

“Hello, Zoe… how did you get out here?”  We walked into the bedroom. Her crate was still there—doors locked—but one side had been pulled inward.  The little turkey had pulled the door in on herself and wiggled out the end.

She went on to escape every crate we tried. And if we tried to stop her or work through her anxiety, she would hurt herself trying to get out. So, that was the end of the crate.

Her Cats
We already had cats when we brought Zoe home, and she was wonderful with them—gave them space, didn’t chase, and respected their murder mittens.  Over time, they adjusted and learned to enjoy—or at least tolerate—her.

When Zoe was three, we adopted two tiny black kittens after losing two of our original four. Zoe immediately claimed them as her own.  Stormy and River weren’t our kittens—they were hers. Stormy would soothe himself by suckling the fur on her neck. River would tuck herself under Zoe’s back leg. They adored her, and she adored them right back.  That bond lasted her entire life. Stormy kept suckling her fur to the very end, and River would walk up and headbutt her daily.

We often said Zoe was a cat in a dog’s body. She liked dogs—but she loved cats.

The Start of Something Bigger
In 2020, everything changed. The pandemic hit, and I lost my job in May. Suddenly, I was home all the time.  Zoe loved it—she hated being alone.

I, on the other hand, was bored out of my mind. No hobbies, no visiting people, no money to shop—so Zoe and I walked, watched far too much TV, and just spent our days together.

In August, I saw a post from the rescue we adopted her from—they were looking for volunteers and fosters.  I signed up for orientation, and by September, I was driving for them.

In November, we welcomed our first foster—a big bruiser pup named Boomer.  That’s where our adventures in fostering began.

Destructo Dog
Zoe was never a fan of being home alone – in fact, she earned the nickname Destructo Dog. We learned the hard way what that meant—couches, seatbelts, drywall, linoleum, carpet, door frames. Nothing was safe. Over her lifetime, we went through ten couches. We lived with holes in the walls and ruined woodwork because as soon as we fixed something, she would just redecorate it with her teeth.

People had opinions.
“She needs training.”
“You should crate her.”
“If that were my dog, I’d have gotten rid of her.”

My response was always the same: it’s a good thing she’s my dog.  She was our family. We weren’t giving up on her. We tried everything—trainers, online programs, books, videos, even medication. Eventually, we learned to manage it by blocking off areas she could damage. 

It worked… until it didn’t.  Sometimes we forgot. Sometimes we thought maybe—just maybe—we could trust her again. I’d come home, say a little prayer to the furniture gods, open the door, and be greeted by a very happy Zoe.  Sometimes it was an “Oh, Zoe…” because she’d found something. Sometimes it was “Good job, girly” on the days she hadn’t been triggered.

We didn’t change her—we changed our lives for her.  And we did it gladly.  We were all she had.

The Best Foster Sister
With Zoe by our side, we fostered well over 125 animals.
Mostly kittens—some of them bottle babies—and around 18 dogs and puppies.

She was the best foster sister anyone could ask for.  With the dogs, she taught boundaries, how to settle, and how to just be a dog.

Cats were a completely different story.  Zoe didn’t just like them—she loved them, especially the babies.

If I had a litter of bottle babies, she would help clean them up after feeding. When it came time to weaning, she was more than happy to lick every bit of wet food off their faces and bodies.  She would let kittens crawl all over her, curling up against her like she was one of them.

Sometimes she’d try to herd them into one place—gently gathering them together—only to watch them scatter in ten different directions. The look on her face… confusion, betrayal. Like she was thinking, “Why? I just want to love you!”

Olympus
In the spring of 2022, I was caring for a litter of bottle babies when I was asked to take in three more, a bit older.  About a week later, I was asked if I could take on one more kitten. I already had six, so really—what was one more?

When I went to pick him up, I saw the tiniest little waif you could imagine.  He had a full set of teeth, which made him about five weeks old. But when I got him home and weighed him, he was only 220 grams.  Shockingly small.  I’ve been told it’s a miracle he survived.

At night, he slept with the bottle babies. During the day, he played with the slightly older ones.  We named him Olympus—because he was so tiny, he needed a giant name. 

Olympus and Zoe became best friends.  He would cuddle with her, sleep on her, groom her—and she gave it all right back. She was his protector and they were inseparable.

The Heart of Our Home
Zoe was the foundation of love in our house. Even with her anxiety, even with all the challenges—she was just full of love.  For a short-haired dog, she shed like you wouldn’t believe. Her red fur ended up everywhere.

If we took her to the pet store, she would just lie down and soak up all the attention she could get—from staff, from strangers, from anyone willing to give it.  She had a following everywhere she went.  She left behind her glitter—and a lasting impression on everyone who met her.

The Hardest Goodbye
In January 2026, we went to work like any other day. Zoe was completely fine. She ate her breakfast and settled in as usual.  When we got home that night, we let the dogs out—and Zoe went and laid down in the driveway.  That wasn’t her.  She should have been at the back of the car, helping with groceries or bouncing with excitement to see us.

I knew immediately something was wrong.  I called the vet and asked if they could see her on an emergency basis. Our regular clinic was closed, so we drove an hour and a half to a smaller clinic the rescue uses.  They were willing to see her one-on-one, and with Zoe’s anxiety, that mattered.

As we walked in, the vet took one look at her and said, “There’s definitely something going on here, and I don’t like what I’m seeing.”

In that moment, I knew our lives were about to change. After an ultrasound and fluids, we got the answer.

Hemangiosarcoma.

A tumor on her heart had ruptured, and her chest was filling with blood. There was nothing they could do.  We held her. Loved her. Told her she was the best girl.  And in a matter of minutes, she slipped away in my arms.

She changed our lives in ways we never expected, and we wouldn’t trade a single moment. While these first few months without her have been incredibly quiet, our home is still full of the love (and the red fur) she left behind, kept alive by the rest of our rowdy pack.