The Beginning: Schnauzers and Small Towns

People love dividing the world into neat little camps: coffee or tea, beach or mountains, cats or dogs. If you’d asked me that last one at various points in my life, the answer might’ve felt complicated. But looking back, the truth is clear—and a recent moment with my wife, Daryl, only confirmed it.

To understand, we have to start at the beginning.

I was born in Odessa, Texas, and in my earliest, hazy memories, there were two Schnauzers: Winnie and Tuffy. They were part of my world until 1969, when we moved to Fort Pierce, Florida. They didn’t come with us. I have a dark, fragmented memory—possibly imagined—of hearing one had been poisoned. It may have just been my two-year-old brain trying to make sense of loss.

Once we were settled in Fort Pierce, Dad brought home another Schnauzer. I insisted we name her Winnie, too. She was a handful, but she was mine. And judging by the mysterious disappearance of three gifted Mallards, I’m pretty sure she had a taste for duck.

Life on the Farm: Samantha and Santiago

Later, on a farm, came a new chapter—and some truly unforgettable dogs.

My stepfather, Charles, brought home a mix of German Shepherd, black Lab, and maybe even wolf. She didn’t run—she loped. Her name was Samantha, and she was the best cattle dog I’ve ever seen. When they moved to Jacksonville in 1988, she stayed behind. She belonged to the land.

Around that time, we also had Santiago, a massive black Lab whose life was cut short by cancer. I still miss him.

Ralph, Pepper, and the Dogs of My Dad’s House

At my dad’s place, there was always a dog. When I was in ninth grade, I got to pick out a Golden Retriever puppy he named Ralph. Ralph was a trip—smart, sweet, and selective about when he felt like retrieving.

Then came Pepper, a Shih-Poo who looked exactly like a teddy bear and acted like a toddler in a dog costume. She was (and is) all personality, and we love her for it.

Tosh and the Pain of No Goodbye

The first dog I ever truly owned as an adult was Tosh—a spirited Lhasa Apso I inherited from my brother. We were inseparable. He once got loose and was gone for 24 terrifying hours before somehow finding his way home.

But his final chapter still hurts. I left him with a friend during a trip. She let him out into her unfenced yard, and he vanished. We never saw him again. There’s a unique kind of pain in not getting to say goodbye.

Crystal, Georgia, and Becky: A Family of Dogs

After I married my first wife, Vicki, we found a stray Schipperke we named Crystal. She was a sweetheart—until our daughter, Lizzi, came along. Crystal grew jealous and nipped at her, and we had to let her go.

Later, we got a registered chocolate Lab: DeBolt’s Sweet Georgia Brown. Georgia was wild, full of energy, and constantly escaping the yard. One night, we heard a thump outside. We both thought it was the other moving around the house. It wasn’t. It was Georgia—struck by a car. That grief came on like a lightning strike.

Eventually, Vicki and Lizzi convinced me to see a Cocker-Pekingese puppy at a pet store. One look into her eyes, and I was done. We named her Becky, and she became the heartbeat of our home. After the divorce, she stayed with Lizzi, but every visit, she’d bury herself in my arms like I’d never left. Years later, we gave her a peaceful goodbye—but losing her still hurts.

New Life, New Dogs: Arya, Princess, and a New Samantha

When I married Daryl, our new dog story began. In 2016, my stepson, Jonathan, found a brindle pit bull mix online. We adopted her and named her Arya. She was with us until Jonathan moved out and took her with him.

In 2020, I wanted a dog of my own. That’s how Princess entered our lives—another pitbull mix, supposedly housebroken. Looking back, I think that meant she had already broken someone’s house. But she’s mine, and I adore her. She’s as sweet as they come.

Then, just a couple of months ago, Daryl found a stray—emaciated, nails like talons, clearly neglected. We took her in and I named her Samantha, because she reminded me so much of the cattle dog from my youth. This new Samantha is housebroken, playful, likely hearing impaired—and completely wonderful.

Full Circle

We’ve had cats over the years, but I’m incredibly allergic. They’re fine. But dogs? Dogs are different.

They’re not just pets. They’re companions. Co-pilots. Grief counselors. Clowns. Guardians. They become part of your story—part of your soul.

So no, it’s not complicated anymore.

I’m a dog person. And I can’t imagine not having one in my house.

Have a dog who changed your life? Share your story in the comments—I’d love to hear about them.

Copyright © 2025 Doug DeBolt.