07/21/2026
In Loving Memory of Soldier
Some dogs enter your life with wagging tails and perfect manners. Soldier entered mine because I drove to some boonedock town in the southern part of Va, to buy a goat.
When I arrived, the seller told me she couldn’t catch the goat because it had gotten away. As we stood there, she was actively arguing with a fluffy white puppy. Frustrated, she looked at me and said, “I hate him. You want him?”
I wasn’t looking for a puppy, but I knelt down to pet him anyway.
That puppy came home with me.
My then-husband, Adam, named him Soldier, and from the very beginning Soldier was, without question, the most dog-aggressive puppy I had ever met. We spent eight long months trying to make things work before I made the heartbreaking decision to rehome him with a woman who assured me she had no other dogs.
Seven months later, she pulled into my driveway, opened the door, dropped Soldier into my yard, and yelled that he had tried to kill her other dog.
Soldier was home.
The next chapter wasn’t easy. He spent six months living in a kennel while we worked through his behavior. Soldier had firmly decided that he was the alpha, and he challenged just about every male dog he met. We had more than our fair share of disagreements, and he required careful management for the rest of his life.
Ironically, despite all of that, Soldier was thoroughly trained to respect small dogs. My first dog, Daisie, made sure of it. She didn’t care that he outweighed her many times over—she kept him in line from the day he met her. After Daisie passed, Sissie proudly took over the job, and Soldier never seemed to question either of them for very long. He even had a little Shih Tzu buddy who visited him for years. For a dog who could be so difficult with other large males, he always had a soft spot for his tiny friends.
Eventually, my first Great Pyrenees, Emma, accepted him. She taught him more than I ever could, and together they watched over the farm. Later, he became inseparable from Brandie, our Border Collie/Lab mix. Those girls became his family.
To be perfectly honest, Soldier was never the world’s most enthusiastic livestock guardian. Emma and Brandie seemed to take the job much more seriously, and for years I wasn’t entirely convinced Soldier cared all that much about the animals.
Then life changed.
When Emma died, Soldier grieved. When Brandie left us, a part of him seemed to disappear with her.
In the last two years of his life, something shifted. The old boy quietly stepped into the role he had ignored for most of his life. He checked on every new baby born on the farm. He spent nights in the barn with newborn goats, something he had never cared to do before. It was as if, after losing his girls, he decided it was finally his turn to watch over everyone else.
A few years ago, Soldier nearly lost his life after a brown recluse spider bite destroyed much of his leg. The veterinarian discussed amputation, but I knew my dog. Even if he survived the surgery, I couldn’t imagine Soldier living happily without being able to run alongside the girls he loved.
Instead, the damaged tissue was removed all the way down to the bone, and we went home.
For two months, every eight hours, I changed bandages, gave medications, cleaned wounds, and helped him heal. My dad came over every day to let him out, and Soldier was thrilled to see him. As for me… I think he was completely sick of seeing me come at him with another bandage change.
But we saved his leg.
And that stubborn old fool got several more wonderful years because of it.
He loved being called pretty. The moment I’d tell him how handsome he was, he’d throw his head back and flash the biggest toothy grin you’ve ever seen. Every single tooth would show, and he looked less like a Great Pyrenees and more like a friendly werewolf. He also had a habit of leaning his giant body against my leg, perfectly positioning his head beneath my hand, quietly asking for pets in the only way Soldier ever knew how.
He wasn’t an easy dog.
He wasn’t everyone’s favorite.
He tested my patience more times than I can count.
But he was ours.
For nearly fifteen years, Soldier was woven into the story of Choose Joy Farm. Through marriages, divorce, new beginnings, countless baby goats, hard lessons, heartbreak, and everyday farm life, he was there. He wasn’t perfect. Honestly, sometimes he was downright difficult. But he was also resilient beyond belief, fiercely loyal in his own way, and impossible to replace.
In the end, the puppy that someone said they hated became one of the longest chapters of my life.
I’ll miss seeing that big white shadow crossing the pasture.
I’ll miss resting my hand on his head.
I’ll miss calling him pretty just to watch him smile.
I’ll even miss arguing with him.
Run free, Soldier. Find Emma and Brandie again. I have a feeling they’re waiting for you, and this time, maybe you’ll finally let the girls tell you what to do.
Thank you for choosing me that day, even if neither of us realized it would be for almost fifteen years. You were stubborn, frustrating, hilarious, resilient, and deeply loved.
I will miss you more than words can ever say.
