The Mother Who Thought She Had Failed
Five years ago, we adopted Jubee from Three Little Pitties Rescue in Houston.
Before she found us, she had been living on the streets.
She was about two years old when she came home.
She was quiet.
A little shut down.
But there was something in her eyes.
A spark.
A determination.
You could tell she'd survived things no dog should ever have to survive.
Jubee is an American Bully.
She is also incredibly dog aggressive.
For the first few years, we kept trying to make her into the dog we imagined she'd become.
Camping.
Truck rides.
New places.
Maybe this trip would be different...
It never was.
If she heard another dog...
Saw another dog...
Everything changed.
Her body became rigid.
Her hackles rose.
She barked with a ferocity that startled everyone around her.
It wasn't enjoyable for her.
It certainly wasn't enjoyable for us.
Eventually, we stopped trying to make Jubee fit into a life she clearly didn't want.
We live on eleven beautiful acres.
This is her happy place.
This is where she feels safe.
Sometimes loving someone means letting go of who you hoped they'd become and embracing who they already are.
Then, about three years after she came home, I noticed something.
Jubee had a favorite spot on our heated floor near the kitchen sink.
She'd lie there quietly, staring off into space.
She looked...
Sad.
Not tired.
Not sick.
Sad.
One day I sat down beside her.
I gently asked,
"Hey, Baby...
Can you tell me why you're so sad?"
The answer took my breath away.
She showed me a memory.
When she was living on the streets, she had a litter of puppies.
She loved them with everything she had.
Then one night...
A pack of dogs attacked.
She fought.
She fought with everything she had.
She still carries the scars.
But she couldn't save her babies.
As she shared the story, I could feel something much deeper than grief.
She believed she had failed them.
She believed she hadn't been a good enough mother.
I sat there with tears running down my face.
Not only because I could feel her pain.
Because, as a mother myself...
I understood it.
I think many mothers carry quiet places inside themselves where they wonder if they could have done more.
Loved better.
Protected longer.
Chosen differently.
I gently told Jubee something I hoped she could begin to believe.
"You did everything you could."
"You were the best mama you knew how to be."
"What happened wasn't your fault."
Then I told her something else.
"You chose Chonkie."
When Chonkie came to live with us, he was only four months old.
Considering Jubee's history, introducing the two of them wasn't exactly smooth.
It took ten days before they could even be together without growling.
But then...
Something beautiful happened.
Jubee chose him.
She became his mama.
She washed his ears.
Watched over him.
Loved him with her whole heart.
Even today, Chonkie weighs seventy-five pounds.
Jubee weighs fifty.
She still mothers him as though he's that same awkward puppy who first walked into her life.
Watching them together, I realized something.
Love sometimes gives us another opportunity.
Not to replace what we've lost.
Nothing could ever replace the puppies Jubee couldn't save.
But perhaps life gently whispered,
"Your heart still has more love to give."
Sometimes family isn't only the one we're born into.
Sometimes it's the one we choose.
And sometimes...
The one who needs healing most becomes the one who teaches us that love is always willing to begin again.
You May Be Wondering...
Can animals carry emotional wounds from their past?
In my experience, yes. Just as people can carry memories of loss, fear, or trauma, our animal companions may carry emotional experiences that continue to shape the way they move through the world. What I've also witnessed is their extraordinary capacity to heal when they are met with patience, safety, and unconditional love. Healing doesn't erase the past, but it can open the door to a new chapter.
May you see the world through the eyes of love, remembering that we are all part of one living, sacred whole.
