By Chris White – 2025

When we lost Lula, our adopted boxer of six years, it felt like the house had been struck silent. She wasn’t just a dog; she was the dog, the kind of companion that gets into your heart so deep, you almost forget she isn’t human. Lula had been Emily’s shadow, a wounded warrior from the dog pound who found in Emily the kind of love that could heal a thousand unseen scars. The two were inseparable, Lula with her quiet resilience, and Emily with her endless well of nurture.

So, when Lula passed, Emily said, with the kind of finality that makes a man shudder, “No more dogs.” And I didn’t push her. Not at first. You don’t argue with a heart that raw. But months passed, and I saw her floundering, her usual spark dimmed. That’s when I suggested, as gently as I could, “Maybe it’s time for another dog.”

At first, she resisted. Then she started browsing dog adoption sites, specifically boxer rescues. She wasn’t just looking for any dog; she was looking for the kind of soul only a boxer could provide. But Emily being Emily, she wasn’t drawn to the playful puppies. No, she gravitated toward the old-timers, the dogs with tired eyes and graying muzzles who just needed a soft place to land. I couldn’t blame her, but I also couldn’t bear to see her set herself up for another heartbreak so soon. So I nudged her toward a puppy, a fresh start, a new personality that could grow and adapt alongside us.

That’s how we found Walter Percy White.

Emily discovered a breeder outside Nashville, and we spent weeks glued to a webcam, watching a litter of ten wiggly, wide-eyed pups tumble over each other. The breeder hadn’t yet decided which pup would be ours, but when she finally settled, she told us, “Blue collar boy is yours.” From that moment, Blue wasn’t just a puppy on a screen; he was ours. Every night before bed, Emily would turn to me and ask, “Wanna watch puppies?” And we’d lie there, giggling at his antics, already smitten before we’d even held him.

When we picked him up, eight weeks old and all legs and mischief, he fell asleep on my shoulder as Emily drove us home. I remember thinking, Well, that’s it. We’re goners. Walter was a ball of chaos wrapped in fur. He’d wrestle us in bed until we were half-dead with laughter and exhaustion. He adored his toys, so much so that he had two overstuffed toy boxes, one upstairs and one downstairs, each filled with his beloved “babies.” Walter didn’t just play with his toys; he knew them. If you asked for the lambie or the lobster, he’d trot off and return with exactly the right one, proud as a king presenting his treasures.

At three months, we sent him to a trainer, Eric Davis, for a bit of boot camp. The house felt empty without him, and we counted the days until his return. When he came back, a little more polished but just as full of personality, it felt like we’d struck gold. Walter wasn’t just a dog; he was a revelation.

He quickly became a local celebrity. On our walks, passing motorists would roll down their windows and call out, “Hi, Walter!” He’d respond with his signature zoomies, tearing across the courthouse lawn in wild, joyful circles that defied physics and common sense. He dodged trees and trash cans with an agility that made you hold your breath, certain he’d crash but knowing he wouldn’t. He was reckless and radiant, a showman who seemed to know the world was watching.

But it wasn’t all flash and antics. Walter had a tender side, too. In the evenings, he’d curl up beside Emily, laying his head across her legs as if to say, This is my spot, and you’re my person. He snored like a freight train, but it was the kind of sound that makes a house feel full, the soundtrack of a love so complete it spills into every corner of your life.

Walter has grown into the best decision we ever made. He’s four now, a full-grown boxer with a heart as big as his bounding leaps. He still loves Emily the most, and she loves him right back with a fierceness that’s hard to describe. When he rests his head on her lap, it’s as if the universe aligns, two souls perfectly matched, bound by a love that’s as playful as it is profound.

And me? I love him, too. How could I not? Walter is more than a dog; he’s a reminder of the joy that follows loss, the light that finds its way back into your life when you least expect it. He’s proof that love, in all its messy, slobbery, snoring glory, is always worth the risk.