Louis Love

Louis and Brielle ready for Halloween

“Louie!” my 8-year-old granddaughter Brielle squeals, her voice bubbling with joy as I walk toward her, cradling a cotton-ball puff of a 10-pound Bichon in my arms. The after-school playground hums with children running around shouting and laughing, but the moment she spots Louis, the world narrows into a little circle of pure delight. She grabs his leash with the proud authority of a seasoned pet owner. Beaming, as several friends hurry over, lured in by Louie’s irresistible white, fluffy bright white fur and tiny size. 

“Look,” she says, crouching beside him, gently turning over one of his cloud-soft ears to reveal the delicate pink underneath. “Isn’t this so cute?”

“Can I pet him?” one girl asks. Then another. “Me too?”

“Of course you can,” I tell them, watching them reach towards Louis with giggles and tentative strokes. Louis soaks it in—his curly-Q tail wagging, eyes sparkling with the thrill of being adored. He truly is the happiest when he is around children. Callen, my 6-year-old grandson, spots us on the playground and sprints over smiling from ear to ear.

As we walk back to the car, my heart lifts, full and tender, grateful that I said yes to dog-sitting Louis. Grateful that my grandkids get to know this kind of simple, sweet love—a dog’s love. The kind that asks for so little and gives so much.

Nearly a year has passed since I first agreed to care for him for three weeks while his mom traveled abroad. I didn’t know it then, but that one small decision would expand into a relationship built on trust, affection, and unexpected healing. Now we share him—two dog moms, bonded by our mutual devotion to one gentle little companion.

While his owner works in New York this month, Louis lives with me, padding through my home with soft paws and loyal presence. On the days I care for my grandkids, he comes along, slipping seamlessly into our rhythm. Their affection for him has grown roots; so has mine.

Five years ago, when I laid my beloved German Shepherd to rest, something in me closed. The house felt too quiet, and although I missed the companionship, I couldn’t open the door to another dog. My heart wasn’t ready.

Until Louis. And then—unexpectedly—it was.

At night, Louis curls beside me, his warm, compact body molding into mine. In the morning, our ritual begins with a tummy rub—his small paws stretching, his dark, dreamy eyes gazing into mine with complete enjoyment. I stroke his velvety skin, marveling at the softness, the innocence.

Our morning walks pull me back into the world in a way I didn’t realize I’d missed: the brush of crisp air, the blue sky opening above, neighbors waving, the rhythm of life unfolding around us. It’s the connection my soul had been craving since my dog left this earth.

I used to be a “rugged dog” person—trail runs, adventures along seaside cliffs. But now, in my 70s, my pace is different. My needs are different. And somehow, Louis fits this season of my life perfectly. I can lift him, hold him, tuck him into the crook of my arm. And he, in turn, nestles in close—as if he, too, needs the reassurance of touch. He is small in this big world, but he knows he is safe with me. And I love giving him that safety.

Wherever we go, Louis draws smiles and attention. Joy spreads like sunshine. It’s impossible not to feel it.

Restaurants, parks, soccer sidelines—he adapts, content simply to be with us.

There’s one more strand to this story—my sister on the East Coast. She rescued a Bichon named Joey a few years ago, a dog she swears saved her as much as she saved him. Joey is her heart companion, the creature who steadied her during challenging chapters of her life.

Now that I care for Louis, we often swap photos, videos, and stories. These two fluffy little dogs have woven yet another thread between us as sisters—an unexpected gift. “It’s a miracle from the universe,” she told me once. And truly, it feels that way.

I sensed, even in the beginning, that saying yes to Louis would open something—doors, hearts, maybe even old wounds ready to heal. And it has. His mom trusts us completely; Louis trusts us deeply. And we… well, we adore him.

Louis isn’t just a dog we watch. He’s family.

This Thanksgiving, Louis—sweet little lamb—know this: It is you we are grateful for. You, who brought companionship back into my life. And you who helped stitch a little more love into our family.

Intention: Enjoy with gratitude your family and friends this Thanksgiving and any dogs you might meet along the way…