Are We Crazy?
Um..Yea…
Let me explain.
After a lot of conversation about the dogs and the trip ahead, we started worrying: if Verde crossed the rainbow bridge while we were on the road, Quinn would be left heartbroken and without a pack mate. Quinn is a dog’s dog – he loves K9 companionship – and we knew no rescue would adopt to us once we were already traveling.
So we landed on the most rational solution: add a pup to the pack now.
Since Robbie passed last October, we’ve had a boxer-shaped hole in our hearts + home. We knew we’d add another boxer to the woof pack eventually, and now seemed like the time. So we started following boxer rescue groups and reaching out about available dogs – and hit a hurdle we weren’t expecting: rejection. Most rescues wouldn’t adopt out of state; several in-state wouldn’t adopt outside certain counties. The ones that would turned us down for having other “bully-breeds,” for having a male dog, because Quinn wasn’t old enough, because Verde was too old. We were blown away – if only we could make them understand how much love this pup would get.
It got bad enough that I started talking myself into the benefits of “ethical breeders.” But many of those don’t let you pick your puppy – you put down an insane deposit for a future litter and wait to be handed one. I hated that. I’m a big believer in chemistry between humans and dogs: I need to look them in the eyes, and they need to pick me, or vice versa.
Thankfully, fate intervened – a random Facebook post from someone helping a friend re-home her boxer’s accidental litter. She was in Michigan, less than an hour from my mom’s house, and the puppies would be ready by Mother’s Day. I reached out, and the rest fell into place. Well… sort of.
The One We Went For: Dundee
When we found the litter in Michigan, one puppy kept standing out to us. Big, floppy, goofy, completely unaware of how large he already was at six weeks. We saw those big ole eyes and knew – this was the guy for us.
We named him Dundee. As in Crocodile Dundee – because this dog is about to spend his entire early life in the bush. Trailheads. Campsites. National forests. State parks. He’s going to grow up wild, and then we plan on relocating to a different kind of wild – New York City. Just like Mick Dundee.
We started making arrangements to fly up to get him Mother’s Day weekend. The timing felt kismet – I could spend the holiday with my mom, go to my niece’s volleyball tournament, pick up a lil’ boxer lip, and then fly home in time for work on Tuesday.
Yet again, fate intervened. Two things happened which made flying up impossible:
- Spirit Airlines closed and our tickets evaporated.
- Dundee’s mum called – he was too big for the carrier we’d sent.
We had to drive.
So drive we did. 15 hours each way with our other ding-dongs in tow.
Dundee was the plan. Dundee was the whole trip.
And then we got there.
The One We Didn’t Expect: Logan
When we arrived to pick up Dundee, we learned that his little brother – same litter, the runt of the bunch – had no home lined up. The rest of the litter was gone, adopted. Nobody had claimed him. Nobody was coming for him.
I looked at Dylan.
Dylan looked at me.
We looked at the puppy.
The puppy, for his part, looked at us like this was already decided and we were just catching up.
His first family had named him Logan – after The Wolverine, because of his sharp little nails, his teeth, and his scrappy personality.
We thought we had it figured out. Our friends in North Carolina agreed to adopt him – they have quite a pack of their own, including two boxers and a pittie mix, just like us. The plan was to drive Logan to his new home and get the brothers together every summer when we visit.
The Drive Home
Somewhere between Michigan and Florida, with four dogs asleep in the back seat, we started to get cold feet. There was something about Logan. We couldn’t put our finger on it just then, but after our first night at the hotel, we knew exactly what it was.
The way he’d find Dylan’s dirty laundry to make into a bed, the way he followed him to the shower in the morning, the way he’d lay against Verde like he’d known him forever.
Robbie used to do all of those things too.
Not metaphorically. Not “oh he reminds me of Robbie in a sweet way.” The actual, specific habits. The laundry. The morning ritual. The routine.
By the time we crossed into Tennessee, Dylan and I both knew, and neither of us had said it yet.
By Georgia, Dylan said it.
I don’t think we can give him away.
I didn’t argue.
We Had to Be Terrible Friends (And We Were Forgiven)
There is no good version of the phone call where you tell someone you’re keeping the puppy you promised them. There is no framing that makes it not exactly what it is.
We were honest. We told them the whole story – the drive, the habits, Robbie, all of it. We apologized properly. We meant it.
They were gracious about it in a way that, honestly, made us feel worse and better at the same time. Good people are like that. They gave us the gift of being let off the hook without making us feel like we’d earned it.
We owe them. We know we owe them. We will spend a long time making it up to them.
The Pack, Right Now
So here is where we are.
Verde is 14 years old and has decided he likes the puppy energy in the house. He even plays with them in the park. He is patient with them the way only a very old, very wise dog can be patient with chaos – which is to say, he ignores it completely and relocates to the sunniest, quieter spot available.
Quinn, who has been the baby of the family for less than a year, is obsessed with his puppies. He loves playing with them and then retreating for a nap with Verde.
Dundee is now 45 pounds at six months old and is our big ole gentle giant. He flops with the grace only gravity can provide and has zero concept of his size.
Logan is 30 pounds and has stayed true to his name’s origin. He is the scrappiest dog of the pack, the built-in security alarm, and one of the funniest dogs I’ve met.
And somewhere in all of it – in the way Logan snuggles up to Verde, the way he growls at unsuspecting children, the way he finds our laundry for a bed – Robbie is still with us. Still showing up. Still, somehow, finding his way home.
We hit the road June 10th. All five of us.
Follow along at @TheLongWayLiving on Instagram and TikTok — two senior rescues, two boxer puppies, a 13-foot trailer, and absolutely no chill.
✨Coming next: Why it took 8 weeks to start making content – AKA – The trailer saga. Everything that can go wrong before you even leave the driveway (and after). →