What my pets know that I don’t
I’ve been an animal lover since the day I was born. I skipped right over the doll aisle of life and beelined straight for anything soft, furry, and vaguely resembling a creature. Stuffed animals were my absolute joy. But in true tiny animal-activist fashion, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them alone while I was at pre-school. So naturally, I gave them to our dogs for companionship.
Child Wendy with my favorite stuffed dog
I became “that girl” early on—the one who would stop traffic to help a goose cross the road or scoop up a half-drowned rodent with all the gentle concern of a paramedic. People assumed I was destined to become a veterinarian. I briefly entertained the idea, but then I realized I’d have to be good at math, science, and anatomy (of many), and not tear up every time an animal came in hurt… so, plan B.
Still, animals have always been my people. We had dogs growing up—always. Possibly because I wouldn’t shut up about needing “a furry best friend.” But also because animals are magic, and I’ve always believed in surrounding myself with beings who make me feel calm, seen, and loved without saying a word.
I believe animals are gifts—whether from God or the universe or whatever higher energy is out there watching us stumble through life. I truly believe they’re here to help us, especially when we humans are being… well, a little stupid.
Meet my family
These days, my household is run by Stella the cat, Clyde the big black dog, and myself. Let’s be honest: I’m just the chick who pays the bills and dishes out the food.
Stella is 17, adopted at the tender age of 10 (because senior pets deserve their soft landings, too). She’s opinionated, regal, and very much in charge. Clyde is a Newfoundland-Pitbull mix I adopted in June 2020. It was peak lockdown, so I didn’t get to meet him beforehand—adoption by faith, not sight.
Stella Bella Tinkerbell - aka StellaB, and/or Puddy Tat
Clyde S. Dale - aka Clyde, or Clydesdale when he’s naughty
The rescue described Clyde as a 4-year-old, 80-pound sweetheart. He turned out to be a 1-year-old, (who gained an additional 25 lbs) wrecking ball of emotional damage– but in the sweetest way. We weigh about the same now, which makes for an interesting dynamic when he thinks we’re playing tackle.
Clyde came with no training, no recognition of his name, and a full bouquet of fears. Cars, doorways, loud noises, probably the wind… all terrifying. It took over a year (and more money than I’ll admit) to get him to simply get in the car. But beneath all the trauma and nervous flinching, he turned out to be the gentlest, most soulful dog I’ve ever met. And I’m not just saying that because he’s mine. Ask anyone who’s met him: Clyde is a tender-hearted linebacker.
The breath check ritual
R u ok?
Around a year before my cancer diagnosis, Clyde developed a very… unique ritual. Every morning, before I’m allowed to get out of bed, he walks up to my face—nose inches from mine—and waits. We lock eyes like we’re about to share a secret or open a dramatic soap opera scene. And then, I give him a little puff of air. He sniffs in my smelly breath. Then trots off like a doctor saying, “You're good for another 24 hours.”
At first, I started wondering and asking him, “What do you know that I don’t know? Because let me tell you: the day after a traumatic dental procedure, I did the usual puff and he ran away crying. Like… actual whimpering. He knew I was in pain.
So now I pay close attention. If he ever pauses longer than usual, I’m Googling symptoms before my coffee brews.
Stella the healer
And then there’s Stella. My little nurse. During cancer treatment, she never left my side. Never. She curled around me like a scarf, followed me from room to room, and laid next to me when I rested—quiet, steadfast, and present. She didn’t do anything dramatic or performative. She just stayed. Sometimes she’d rest her paw on my hand, or stretch her arm across me for a hug. And honestly, that was everything.
Nurse Stella
Wrapping it up in fur
I guess what I’m saying is: animals aren’t just pets. They’re mirrors, healers, therapists, comedians, and sometimes life coaches with better instincts than most humans I know.
They’ve been with me through every phase—cheering me up, calming me down, and occasionally diagnosing me with morning breath trauma. They’ve taught me about patience, forgiveness, trust, and what it means to be loved without conditions or judgment.
So yes, maybe I didn’t become a vet. But I did become someone who listens, fiercely protects, and cherish the breath-checks from my dog like it’s a sacred ritual.
And in return, I get a kind of connection this world could use more of.
Want to make someone smile today? Go adopt a senior cat. Or spend some time with a shelter dog and see what secrets they know. You never know what magic you’re letting into your life.
