Sophie

2010 - 2025

Sophie (Soph, Soph-a-Loaf, Sophie Bear, Sopapilla, Munchkin Face)
January 6, 2010 – December 31, 2025
May 13, 2010 — the day she became my best friend.
She loved her Buc-ee, her purple mushroom, Mr. Squirrel, toilet paper rolls, and most of all—her mom.
She was my shadow. Any time I went into the bathroom, I had to remember to open the door slowly, because she would be right there waiting for me. And if the door wasn’t shut, she’d peek around the shower curtain just to check on me—shower droplets sprinkling her muzzle.
No matter what words I string together, they will never measure up to the magnitude of love I have for Sophie. But I am going to do my best.
I was 19 years old. I had no idea how to even care for myself, let alone a dog. My partner at the time and I kept scrolling through the Wayside Waifs webpage, writing down abstract names for this so-called dog—pretty sure Woodstock was a top contender. On May 13, 2010, we drove to Wayside Waifs. We had several dogs we wanted to meet. There was even another dog who was our first choice—but he had no interest in us.
Next up was a tiny, five-month-old white-and-orange Brittany-looking mix with an array of different fur types: straight, curly, crimped, wavy. Whoever created her clearly had no idea what they wanted her made out of. All I know is that she sat in my lap.
And that is when our adventure began.
Sophie picked me. It was always meant to be Sophie. I truly believe I was put on this Earth, on this exact path, to live my life with her. I always said we were made from the same stardust—and we were. We were the same soul, intertwined. If my left shoulder started hurting, she’d favor her left shoulder the next day. My stomach hurt, her stomach hurt (let’s be real—both our stomachs hurt all the time). She sneezed, I sneezed.
We had our own language. She wasn’t just a dog—she was a human soul inside a dog’s body. She wasn’t just a beloved animal. She was my child. Every decision I made in my life centered around her—even the car I bought. It had to have leather seats and a sunroof so she could feel all the wind through her fur.
I took her to school at the Dogs’ Spot. I took her to the doctor regularly. I made sure she had playdates and daily fresh air and movement. I bought all the supplements, organized all her pills, and made sure that during thunderstorms or fireworks she had her safe spot in the bathroom, Buc-ee right by her side.
We went on an incredible 16-year journey together. She watched me graduate college. We moved seven times. She walked in my wedding. She comforted me through a divorce. She had a brother, Leo, and later found herself with cat siblings, Scruffy and Ripley. Luther helped me care for her, worry over her, and love her through it all.
We traveled to Springfield to visit my cousin, made several trips to Hermann with my family, and spent many summers as a boat dog at the Lake of the Ozarks.
Sophie absolutely loved toilet paper rolls. The first thing she did when she got home—or visited any house—was hunt for the bathroom to see if she could rummage an empty roll out of the trash. It was a bartering tactic, really. She was very smart and knew that if she grabbed one, I’d trade a treat for it.
Foraging for a toilet paper roll was one of the last things she ever did. And it was the very first thing I looked for when I got home that night.
Her last toilet paper roll now sits displayed in my office window.
Besides toilet paper rolls, my girl loved to swim. She lived in the baby pool every summer. This past summer, I let her out in the middle of the night and she insisted on a midnight swim—and yes, of course I let her.
I took her to see Santa and the Easter Bunny. She would get so excited to see the big red man that she’d pee a little and/or flip onto her back.
She was very selective with her friends—but the ones she loved, she loved deeply. Her last friends, Leo and Walle (the neighborhood dogs), she would tug me toward their houses just to see if they were home. Even as an old lady, she could still romp with the best of them.
And oh, how she loved the snow. I’m not sure if she loved the pool or the snow more, but I do know that when it snowed, she’d go down those stairs and PLOP right into it.
There was one time at the dog park in Parkville with a giant mud puddle. I had no towels in the car. You can probably guess what happened next.
She rode in a limo for my 20th birthday. We dressed up for Halloween. We crossed the finish line of races together. She went on a ghost adventure in a vintage automobile.
She explored the caves at Fantastic Caverns. For the past eight years, she ran through tunnels and hunted for hot dogs at the Dogs’ Spot—meeting dogs and humans who became family, all because of a place she loved so much.
She knew the way to Grandma’s house. Walking down the street from my parents’ house, she would pull my mom and me straight to Grandma’s front door.
There are countless photos of her sitting in my backseat, smiling at me through the rearview mirror.
She was the best cuddler. Her body fit into mine perfectly. She was an oblong dog—her head too small for her long body—but when I held her, we fit together like puzzle pieces.
So many people loved Sophie. “Oh, she is so fluffy,” were the most commonly spoken words about her. She was unforgettable. Years ago, I was in the St. Joe PetSmart with my mom and Sophie when someone called out, “Is that Sophie?!” It was an employee who had worked at the Kansas City PetSmart and cared for her in daycare. Speaking of...Sophie liked her space—and she learned that if she snapped at another dog, she got to go to time-out in her kennel. She would snap, then calmly walk herself over to the door and lean on it like, I snapped. You may remove me now.
She loved her grandparents. Driving into Savannah, she always knew we were close. The moment we hit their street, she’d sit straight up. All four of her grandparents loved and spoiled her.
She was a fighter—beating odds after odds. I adopted her when she had kennel cough. A few months later, she got stuck under a shed and had to be rescued by firefighters. Over the years she was diagnosed with more illnesses than I can keep straight: hip dysplasia, hypothyroidism, chronic UTIs, liver disease, gallbladder disease, kidney disease, seizures, Lafora disease—and somehow, despite it all, she lived nearly 16 years.
Baby girl, you were the strongest fighter anyone could ever ask for. And through it all, I stayed up nights researching, advocating, and fighting right alongside you.
Friends who greeted her: Leo (brother), Scruffy (brother), Hermes, Koda, Darwin, Baxter, Hunter, Arto, Bear, Tate, Meowla, Laverne
Survived by: Ripley (sister) and Pretty (cousin)
Baby girl—thank you for sitting in my lap 16 years ago. Thank you for teaching me the meaning of unconditional love. Thank you for showing me how to slow down and take in the beauty around me. You and I were made from the same stardust. You were my heart outside my body.
I am counting down the days until I see you again. Until then, I will plop into the snow, take midnight swims, and with every empty toilet paper roll, I will smile.