If I Didn’t Take Him, He Wouldn’t Be Here.

Losing a dog feels like losing a part of your soul. When Justice passed, I came home to an empty house—silent, cold, and missing the rhythm of paws across the floor. I knew I couldn’t live without that presence, that heartbeat. So I went to the shelter near where I worked, hoping to find another companion.

The moment I walked in, one little dog made himself known. He barked and barked, as if determined to make sure I didn’t miss him. I told him, half-jokingly, “Let me see what else is here.” I walked down the line of cages, looked at the others, but my heart wasn’t pulled. Something told me to go back. There he was again—this scrappy little dog, staring at me with hopeful eyes and a persistence that felt almost human.

I went to the counter with his cage number. The staff gave me a warning: “Don’t get your hopes up. He didn’t go with the last two families who picked him.”

I looked them in the eye and said firmly, “He’s going with me.”

I knew what would happen if he didn’t. He would be euthanized. And I couldn’t let that be his story.

I named him Pepsi.

At first, everything seemed wonderful. Pepsi was sweet, loyal, and we bonded quickly. But the moment visitors came by, I saw another side. His friendliness vanished. The grandkids came over, and Pepsi went on the attack. My heart sank. Here was this dog I loved, but he was unpredictable, even dangerous with others.

Giving him up never crossed my mind. He had been rejected twice before. He had finally found someone who wanted him, someone who refused to give up. That someone was me.

So I searched for help and finally made the call to Sit Means Sit, a dog training program. Trainers came out and worked with Pepsi, showing him patience, discipline, and structure. Slowly, I began to see the transformation. The barking, the aggression, the fear—they began to fade.

Pepsi became a new dog.

With me, he had always been good. But now, he was safe around others too. I could take him outside, walk him without a leash, and he stayed faithfully by my side. He had become everything I hoped for in a dog and more.

Pepsi wasn’t just a rescue. He was redemption. He was proof that sometimes what looks broken only needs patience and love to heal. He was a dog that others had given up on—but with training, time, and commitment, he became one of the best dogs I ever had.

When I think back to the shelter, I can still see him—barking like mad, demanding my attention. I didn’t know it then, but he was fighting for his life, and he chose me to help save it.

And in saving him, I think he saved me too.

Justice left an emptiness in my home, but Pepsi filled it in a way only he could. He wasn’t perfect, but he was mine—my little man. Loyal, fearless, and unforgettable.

One of the best dogs I ever had.