A Tribute to Wes: My Soul Dog, My Teacher, My Blessing

I rescued Wes when he was just two months old. His entire litter was scheduled to be put to sleep because the shelter in North Carolina didn’t have enough room. When I first saw him, he was this tiny, wiggly puppy with a very special marking on his nose—one that looked just like a heart.

That little heart-shaped marking ended up being the perfect symbol of who he was. From the very beginning, his personality radiated love. It was as if his soul had decided to wear its message on the outside: *I’m here to love and be loved.*

When Wes turned six years old, I got news no dog parent ever wants to hear: osteosarcoma. Bone cancer. I was devastated. The vets told me that if I did nothing, he would have only a few months to live. So I decided the only treatment that they could provide. I chose amputation and chemotherapy, hoping for even a little more time.

It turned out to be the best decision I ever made.

The vets warned me that—even with treatment—Wes would likely have just one to two years because the cancer would return and spread. Instead, he made liars out of cancer and statistics alike. After surgery, he stood up immediately, determined to move forward—literally. Just two weeks later, he was sprinting across the yard chasing his Frisbee, three legs and all. Chemotherapy didn’t slow him down either.

Nothing ever did.

What made Wes extraordinary wasn’t just his resilience; it was the way he touched people. Strangers, neighbors, clients, seniors in assisted living—everyone who met him felt instantly drawn in. He had a way of looking at you, tail thumping, that made you feel seen, safe, and loved.

I brought him to senior living facilities and into client sessions, and he changed lives simply by showing up as himself—happy, giving, loving, resilient, strong. He didn’t just live; he inspired.

Wes lived until 12 years old! His cancer never returned. He gave me six full, beautiful years after his amputation—years I was told I’d never have. And even in his final moments, when his body could no longer keep up, his spirit shone just as brightly. He still wagged his tail.

That’s who he was. A tail-wagging miracle with a heart on his nose and a heart ten times bigger inside.

There’s a term dog lovers sometimes use: soul dog. The one whose presence changes you forever. Wes was mine.

I miss him every moment of every day. Even though he beat the odds and gave me far more time than I ever expected, it still wasn’t nearly enough. But grief is just love with nowhere to go—and I choose to pour that love into honoring him.