To us, Bellamy is always going to be a Paladin. Paladins are like Knights in Shining Armor, powerful figures that hold their heads high and stand as paragons. Bellamy was our Paladin, our Knight, our Guardian, and he always will be.

I (Vanessa) have always been a little afraid of dogs. Big dogs, in particular. When my wife (Anissa) told me that she wanted a dog, I was a little anxious but I was willing to consider it. With our roommate at the time, Jack, I went to Huron Valley Humane Society to meet some of the dogs who were there, anticipating bringing home the pitbull-mix we had discussed adopting. We wanted to make sure that our home gave a dog a second chance and a wonderful place to flourish in a beautiful, happy life. We knew we would be taking home an adult dog, without a doubt. Our home had room. HVHS allows people looking to adopt to walk with dogs in an open-air area behind the building itself, and we spent time walking nearly a dozen dogs. I needed the right dog for my own comfort, a dog I felt that I could trust. And, while the dogs we walked were all wonderful, the wavelength wasn’t quite right.

After taking another dog back inside of the shelter, feeling a little defeated, I asked my roommate to take one more walk around the kennels with me. I told myself that it was fine if we didn’t find the right dog that day. But as we rounded the corner, we spotted a too-thin German Shepherd being settled in a kennel for adoption. And I knew. In my heart, I felt it. That was our dog.

The door on that kennel was barely closed before I grabbed the volunteer and asked for the chance to walk that dog. His name then was Blake and I was EAGER to take him for a walk. He walked beside me at an easy pace, eyes bright and curious. He hadn’t had the easiest life, we could see that from the bat. The tips of his ears were gone, notched and scarred. He had scars on his legs. He was blind in one eye. But he was vibrant. He stayed next to me– even during my main test for each dog we walked where I stopped and knelt to tie my shoe. The second I knelt down, this beautiful GSD stopped and sat next to me, waiting until I was ready to go again.

I remember sitting down with this beautiful dog and texting my wife while she was at work: ‘I found our dog. He’s perfect.’ I didn’t even wait for her to get back to me; I put in our application to take this beautiful GSD home. We had to wait (he wasn’t neutered) and we learned more about him in the meantime. He had just come to HSHV hours before being put in that kennel and going for a walk with us. He was from Alabama and had come up on the Puppy Train. He had been wandering the streets. They thought he had been hit by a car and survived. He had lost the tips of his ears to frostbite. But otherwise, he was in a good health.

We went to pick him up once he was ready to come home and never once doubted how beautiful this boy was going to be in our lives. He was renamed: Bellamy.

Having a dog in our house was something new to get adjusted to. Both Anissa and I had always had cats while growing up and, my experience with dogs had always been relatively hands off. There had been dogs in my home growing up but they had never by my own. But Bellamy? He was OUR dog. We learned how to set routines. We learned the right food for him. We learned he loved snow, that he snored when he slept, that he liked peanut butter and wasn’t opposed to swiping food from plates left unattended. He didn’t like being closed in rooms. He had to bounce on his front feet to build himself up to a bark, but once he got started, he liked to holler until we piled on him for love and pets.

He shed like nothing else. He was stubborn beyond belief and was not opposed to pretending that he was deaf in those giant satellite dish ears to make sure he could keep doing what he wanted. We learned his nails would always be exceptionally long because they were black and dense (he broke multiple nail clippers and even the vets were wary about trimming his nails). He had a propensity for finding the seams for all of his stuffed animals, chewing the stitches apart, and meticulously emptying them of all stuffing and squeakers, leaving our floors covered in fluff.

During our years with us, Bellamy went from a too-small 50 pounds to a robust 85 pounds. He learned that he loved salmon snacks, that he liked rolling in the snow, that he loved cats. He loved EVERYONE, actually. Despite being a dog that had every reason to mistrust or even hate humans, Bellamy had an undeniable and unending love for every person he met. He made friends with my Grandmother, who later developed brain cancer– throughout her time struggling with this disease, Bellamy stayed her dearest friend, dozing with her as she rested, sitting beside her to welcome bits and pieces of her meals as little treats. She told Anissa and I that she loved Bellamy because he was tall enough that she didn’t need to lean down to pet him. Even as she started to lose her battle with cancer, she loved having Bellamy come over to lay with her in peace and quiet.

Bellamy became a pivotal part of our home. Anissa and I both cherished having this astounding, beautiful, loving dog in our home. I had once been afraid of big dogs, but now I took naps with that big dog sprawled in the bed with me. Anissa loved Bellamy with all of her heart, the two of them impossibly and beautifully in-tune with one another. Bellamy was her darling. As much as everyone loved Bellamy, Anissa cherished him and he cherished her. They had an understanding with one another that was unparalleled.

Bellamy was there with us as we moved into our first home, a strong, perfect, wonderful guardian who watched with an ever-thoughtful gaze. He moved a little slower, had to lean on us a bit more. It wasn’t so much that he was playing deaf anymore, but was actually beginning to lose his hearing. His vision started to worsen. His sleep patterns changed. His eating patterns changed. But he was still our beautiful, amazing, and steadfast Paladin, all the way to the end.

Saying goodbye to Bellamy was one of the hardest things we’ve ever had to do. There is a hole in our lives that I honestly do not think will ever go away. It is strange to be in our home without Bellamy. But we know he’s not gone. Our Paladin remains, steadfast and ever watching, in the warm corners of our new home. His spirit remains in the foundation of our lives. The tags on his collar continue to jangle in the quiet hours of the night. He might not physically be here with us anymore, but he isn’t gone.

We love you, Bellamy. Forever and always.