An Unpredictable Pawrenting Miracle

A Journey with Sauli

Just a few months after saying goodbye to Romo, I found myself in the midst of another whirlwind. Sauli arrived in my life like an uninvited but much-needed storm, busting through the quiet grief I was drowning in. Picture this: a long-eared tornado from Alabama, barreling in with enough energy to power a small city. She tore up furniture, rearranged my life, and somehow, started piecing me back together all at once.

It was chaos. Beautiful, relentless chaos. The first few months with Sauli were wild—explosive in every sense. My family? Oh, they were concerned, to put it mildly. They had just watched me unravel during those brutal three weeks when Romo’s passing upended my world. Now here I was, running after a fur missile who thought chewing furniture was the height of comedy. They didn’t just raise an eyebrow; they lifted them to their hairlines.

And yet, losing a pet isn’t just sad; it’s this tangled, complicated heartache that non-pet owners might never fully get. For my family, Romo was a pet I lost. For me, it was like a piece of my soul had vanished. I didn’t even know how to process how deep that loss would go. When people checked in on me, I smiled and nodded. Then, I would sneak off for alone time, trying to catch my breath. But grief isn’t polite. It waits for you in the quiet, and boy, does it bite when you’re least ready.

Enter Sauli, stage right, with no intention of letting life stay quiet for even a second.

Explaining her presence to my parents? A comedy of disbelief. Here was this bounding bundle of energy, bigger than me in just about every sense—strength, speed, unpredictability. I swear, she had them thinking I’d officially lost it. But they’re parents. And parents, even if they don’t understand, will always show up. Within two months, those marshmallows were on a plane to meet the monster who was now part of the family.

I’ll never forget their faces when they saw Sauli in action. She sized them up, bounded over, and before they could react, gave them each a full-on, slobbery kiss. That was it. Game over. The monster had won them over faster than I ever could have imagined.

They started bringing her gifts. Treats, toys—like she was their grandchild. “Look what we got for our girl,” they’d say, and I’d laugh at how easily she’d taken over. Sauli, with all her unpredictable love and boundless energy, wasn’t just here to help me heal. She was here to remind us all that life, even after loss, is meant to be lived at full tilt.

It’s funny how healing doesn’t always come wrapped in soft blankets and quiet moments. Sometimes it’s in the chaos, the unpredictable. Sometimes healing licks your face, knocks over your favorite plant, and makes you chase her around the living room. Sauli turned our grief into laughter. She stitched us up with her messiness. She taught us that once you’ve been loved by a fur missile, you’re never the same.

Sauli was more than just a bundle of energy. She was not merely a distraction from the grief. She became the living proof that joy could coexist with sorrow. She made sure we never had a dull moment. If I was slipping into an old, familiar wave of sadness, she’d nudge me. Sometimes, she would pull me out with a bark. Most effectively, she would tear through the house like it was her personal playground. My family, bless them, watched in a mix of amusement and mild terror as this fur missile redefined “keeping busy.”

The truth is, Sauli brought me back to life in a way that words struggle to capture. She made me realize that love doesn’t just fill the spaces of loss. It also creates new spaces, sometimes in the most unexpected forms. And while she didn’t replace Romo—no one ever could—she helped me see that healing isn’t about forgetting. It’s about making space for new memories while holding on to the old ones. You laugh in the middle of a messy, chewed-up living room. You know that, despite everything, you’re still here. And so is love.

Yeah, once you’ve been nose-licked by Sauli, life’s never quite the same—and thank goodness for that.

If you ever find yourself nose-licked by a “monster” who disrupts your peace, lean into it. Life might just be reminding you that it’s time to be brave enough to let joy back in.