Jerry and I discovered early in our relationship that we shared a love for wrinkly-nosed dog breeds. He favored bulldogs, while I was firmly pug-obsessed. While I still love pugs and have long considered them my favorite breed, I quickly became a bulldog convert.
We knew bulldogs were hard to come by and very expensive, so we weren’t sure when our shared dream of becoming bulldog parents would ever become a reality. Add to that the fact that I don’t ever want a puppy and strongly prefer rescue over breeding, and it definitely seemed like a longshot.
Then we found Bully. Y’all remember him?
It felt like a dream scenario. He checked every box: English bulldog? Check. Local? Check. Rescue? Check. Affordable? At $100… absolutely check.
I still remember the day we drove up to meet him. He was sitting outside, and we fell in love instantly. We brought him home and for a little while it was wonderful… but not for long.
As many of you know, he turned out to be a major alpha dog and terrorized our son and our first dog, Dakota. After four months of trying to make it work, we reluctantly gave him up to a family where he could be the only dog. He’s lived happily ever since.
For a while, I mostly felt relief that the tension in our home was gone and that Dakota was no longer trembling in fear. I left all of my bulldog Facebook groups and decided to move on. I stopped thinking about adding another dog and was content with our status quo. Caring for one dog felt manageable again.
But if you’re a dog lover, you know how this goes.
Eventually that familiar pull started creeping back in.
“Hey, are you still in those bulldog groups on Facebook?” I casually asked Jerry one weekend.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know we don’t have one anymore, but I still like looking. I still love bulldogs.”
“Can you add me back in?”
And so he did. Before long, I was looking again.
I started the hunt for a bulldog who was:
- not a puppy
- in need of rescue
- somewhat close by
I scoured bulldog groups and watched our local rescue pages, but nothing turned up. I applied to rescue groups as a foster and waited for replies. Eventually a breeder in Pennsylvania contacted us about rehoming one of her retired females. We were only four hours away.
We made arrangements to meet, but had to postpone due to car repairs and the rehoming fee being a bit higher than we wanted to pay.
And then the unexpected happened.
The very same weekend we had originally planned to drive to Pennsylvania, Ruffles appeared.
An adult rescue bulldog. Local. And with the very same rescue that Bully had come from — the same rescue my mom’s dogs came from, too.
I reached out immediately to her foster and learned she was wonderful with children and dogs. Gentle. Not an alpha at all. Sweet, affectionate, and in need of some rehabilitation.
At five years old, Ruffles had spent her entire life in a mill, used for breeding. She lived in a kennel and may never have even had a name. She had been treated as a source of income rather than a companion.
Now, with a foster home and the possibility of adoption, she finally had the chance to be treated like the dog she was meant to be.
We followed every update her foster mom posted in the rescue group. We watched as she slowly came out of her shell, learned to navigate stairs, and started house training.
When her foster announced she’d be bringing her to a meet-and-greet, we made sure to be there.
The moment we walked in, I gasped. The little queen was scooting around on her butt, greeting everyone she could reach.
Caleb dropped to his knees, smiling as he petted her and she covered him in kisses.
Within minutes, a crowd gathered around her. We were gently pushed aside as people took turns meeting her. She moved from hand to hand, soaking up the attention she had clearly gone without for most of her life.
She received tons of adoption applications.
Jerry shrugged and said, “We won’t get her anyway.”
I disagreed, but told him to say goodbye just in case.
A few days later we received an email: we had been selected for a home visit.
Out of all those applicants?! We couldn’t believe it.
When we found out later that same day that we’d been chosen to adopt her, we jumped into action, buying a bed, food, and everything else we’d need.
Two days later, on September 2nd, we picked her up in the parking lot of a local pet store and brought her home.
It’s been nearly a week now with our new girl. I won’t say it’s been easy, but it has been rewarding.
We knew going in that she was a mill dog and would need patience.
She pees in her bed and then lies in it. She has only pooped outside once so far, preferring the kitchen tile instead. These habits come from living in a kennel, where you relieve yourself wherever you are and sit in it because you have no other choice.
So we’re working on it. Frequent trips outside. Lots of praise when she gets it right.
On the other hand, her gratitude for this new life is obvious.
She covers us with kisses, climbs into our laps whenever she can, and greets us with a level of affection that feels almost overwhelming. After living so long without gentle hands or love, she seems determined to make up for lost time.
Yes, the accidents are frustrating and messy. But she doesn’t know any different yet.
What amazes me most is how easily she trusts.
One of the hallmarks of bulldogs is their legendary stubbornness. And so I often find myself standing at the bottom of the stairs while she watches me from the top.
She’s nervous about the slippery steps… but also stubborn enough not to try them.
So she waits to be carried.
I remind myself that every part of this house is new to her. Every routine. Every expectation.
So I scoop her up — her round belly pressed against my arm, my leg cramping from the weight — and carry her down. (And yes, we’ve already ordered carpet squares for the stairs.)
We’ll get there. Slowly.
In the meantime, I find myself smiling at the little things: her chiclet teeth, her tongue that hangs out the side of her mouth, and the snoring I can hear from three rooms away.
She’s learning how to be a dog after years of being anything but.
And we’re learning patience right alongside her.
No comments