02/06/2026
The Last Chapter of Bear’s Story ❤️
On Tuesday, Bear went home.
Not to a kennel. Not to another foster home. Not to uncertainty.
Home.
He now has a mom and dad who work from home and absolutely adore him. He has a 14-week-old Golden Retriever baby brother called Ragnar to grow up with, wrestle with, and no doubt teach bad habits to. He has a family whose world will revolve around him in all the ways a puppy deserves.
And that was always the goal.
From the moment I held a tiny newborn puppy in my hands and wondered if he would even survive, the plan was never for him to stay. The plan was to raise him, love him, teach him, and one day hand him over to a family of his own.
What nobody tells you is that sometimes your heart doesn’t agree with the plan.
Many of you have followed Bear’s journey from the beginning. You watched him grow from a fragile little bottle baby into a happy, healthy puppy full of mischief and personality.
You celebrated his first tail wag, his first few steps, eyes opening, teething.
You laughed when he developed his sense of humour and started playing hide-and-seek.
You followed the endless adventures of a puppy who believed every wire should be chewed, every mystery object should be tasted at least once, and every moment of being ignored was a personal insult worthy of barking about.
You watched him nearly go to Jesus more than once.
There were emergency vet visits, bloody diarrhoea, vomiting, growing pains, phosphate deficiencies, medicines, injections, and more than a few sleepless nights where I sat watching him breathe and hoping everything would be okay.
There were victories too.
Watching him discover water in a bowl.
Watching him learn to eat puppy food.
Watching him become obsessed with his Duck and his Drama Lama.
Watching him adore his big brother Finley.
Watching him grow stronger every single day.
But Bear’s story was never really about rescuing a puppy.
It was about getting up every few hours when everyone else was asleep.
It was about worrying over every gram gained and every gram lost.
It was about heating pads, puppy mousse, raw mince, medication schedules, vet visits, and countless moments of wondering whether he’d make it.
It was about teaching a tiny creature that the world was safe.
Most of all, it was about consistency. Showing up for a wee pup who didn’t have anyone else.
And somewhere along the way, this little puppy quietly climbed into a place in my heart that I never intended to give away.
The hardest part wasn’t packing up his toys, his blankets, his food, his vet records, or all the things that belonged to him.
The hardest part was sitting with him before he left and trying to tell him something he could never really understand.
That I wasn’t abandoning him.
That he hadn’t done anything wrong.
That I loved him enough to let him go.
That he was leaving because I wanted him to have everything I couldn’t give him here.
His own family. His own couch. His own adventures. His own forever.
I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry.
That lasted about three seconds.
The tears came whether I wanted them to or not.
I cried while saying goodbye.
I cried after he left.
I cried when I realised the tent he’d slept in since he was tiny was empty.
I cried when I woke up the next morning feeling physically sick from the emotional exhaustion of it all.
And every morning since, I still find myself saying, “Morning, Baby Bear.”
Only to remember a second later that he’s no longer here.
The garden feels quieter.
The tent is empty.
The little puppy who followed me everywhere is gone.
But somewhere else, Bear is waking up in a home filled with love.
He’s got a mom and dad who think he’s wonderful.
A brother to share his adventures with.
A future full of happiness.
And that is exactly what I wanted for him.
Because in the end, Bear taught me something too.
Sometimes loving something means preparing it for a life that doesn’t include you at the centre of it.
That’s a difficult kind of love.
Bear’s story got its happy ending not because he stayed, but because he left.
He left healthy.
He left loved.
He left wanted.
He left with a family waiting for him.
Not every bottle baby gets that ending.
So although this chapter ends with tears for me, it also ends with gratitude.
Thank you to everyone who followed his story.
Thank you to everyone who worried with us, laughed with us, celebrated the milestones, and loved him from afar.
Most of all, thank you for caring about a little puppy who entered this world with almost nothing and leaves this chapter of his life surrounded by everything that matters.
Sleep well, Wee Bear.
Be brave.
Be naughty.
Be happy.
And if dogs somehow know these things, I hope you know that there is someone who still thinks about you every single day.
Ten weeks of habit doesn’t disappear overnight.
And neither does 10 weeks of love.
Love always,
Your human. ❤️🐾
