How I Found The Right Fit in an Emotional Support Dog

I never expected a rescue dog to become my emotional anchor—especially since I didn’t grow up with pets at all. In fact, I had only recently declared that I was done with pets, done with nurturing, and done with the constant demands of caring for something outside myself. But then Crue showed up, and everything I thought I understood about companionship began to deepen.

My understanding of pets, connection, and care has been evolving for decades—long before Crue arrived. When I was raising children, I filled our home with every creature imaginable at various times over the years: ferrets, fish, turtles, dogs, cats, guinea pigs. It was my way of giving them something I didn’t have in my childhood—and maybe, trying to give that to myself too. Over the years, I’ve had pets that made me laugh, some that drove me crazy, and a few that taught me exactly what I didn’t want. There were sweet ones, chaotic ones, ones that bit delivery drivers, and even a whole season of rescue work that left me exhausted and emotionally tapped out. Eventually, I said: enough. The decision was shaped by many experiences—especially two very different, very important ones.

Lessons from Maverick and Company

Maverick came to me as a three-month-old pup, a “small breed” rescue—or so I was told. The vet quickly suspected otherwise, noting his huge paws and German Shepherd-like appearance, and predicting he would grow to nearly 50 pounds. He was right.

Maverick became a 45-pound ball of love—gentle, affectionate, loyal—but also high-shedding, strong, and sometimes a little too much for me to manage, especially during seasons when my own mobility was limited.

For almost three years, I tried to make it work. I loved him deeply. But when his size and energy began to feel overwhelming, I knew he needed more than I could give. Rehoming him was painful, but the match was perfect: a single father and his son, who hiked daily for the son’s mental health. Maverick became the son’s emotional support animal, living the adventurous life his breed was built for. Letting him go wasn’t just for me—it was for him.

A little over a year after Maverick had settled in with me, Company came as a gift from my daughter.

When I found myself longing for grandchildren, my kids were clear: no one was planning on having children anytime soon, if at all. So instead, my daughter gave me Company. His very name carried my intention—I thought he would be my company for the next 15 years. On paper, he was exactly what I had always wanted. Back in college, I had met a toy poodle and dreamed of having one of my own someday. When my daughter handed me this curly little ball of energy, I thought my wish had finally come true.

But Company’s temperament was fiery, protective, and loud—more than I had the capacity for in that season. He barked at every guest, filled the house with noise, and demanded more emotional energy than I could offer. Still, I considered sticking it out. He was small enough, after all. Manageable, I told myself.

Then one morning, I thought of a friend who had unexpectedly lost her beloved dog just months earlier. Something in me nudged: ask her if she’s ready. When I reached out, she admitted she had just started to feel the ache for another companion. The timing was uncanny. I offered her Company, and she lit up. She adored him instantly, doted on him with matching outfits and endless affection. What had felt overwhelming for me became exactly right for her. Rehoming him wasn’t rejection—it was redirection. He found the person who could give him the kind of devotion he truly needed.

Those two experiences taught me what I hadn’t known to ask beforehand:

• Does this companion calm my nervous system or activate it?

• Does this relationship add to my peace or subtract from it?

• Does it meet me where I am, or demand more than I can give?

• Does it make space for my healing, or distract me from it?

  
  

I realized that love alone isn’t the measure. Compatibility matters. Energy matters. Fit matters. And sometimes the most loving choice is to admit when something—or someone—you adore doesn’t align with your life, and to release them into a place where they’ll thrive. Those lessons lingered with me. And in time, they made space for something I never expected: Crue.

Then Came Crue

I had decided I was done. I would focus on myself, tend to my own healing, and close the chapter on pets. But grief has a way of softening edges. After several losses—some public, some private—I found myself quietly wishing for comfort. Not distraction, not chaos, but comfort.

And then one day, a small black-and-white dog appeared on my doorstep. She didn’t bark, she didn’t beg—she just looked at me like she had been waiting. I didn’t know it yet, but this little rescue would grow into my emotional support dog.

Her stark black-and-white markings reminded me of Cruella de Vil, the over-the-top, spotted-fur-obsessed character from 101 Dalmatians. Growing up, she was a whimsical figure from my childhood—dramatic, memorable, almost cartoonishly bold. I found myself playfully calling this little dog Cruella at first, a lighthearted nod to those black-and-white patches that stood out so vividly against her coat.

But soon I began shortening it to Crue—partly for convenience, and partly because the sound of it reminded me of the word “crew.” Living in a river-oriented community shaped by the Potomac, the connection felt meaningful. A crew works together to steer a ship in the right direction, and that’s exactly what Crue became for me: my shipmate, my crew mate, and ultimately my emotional support dog—helping me navigate both of our lives toward steadier waters.

From the beginning, she felt different. She arrived on my late sister’s birthday, as if delivered with a message: I see you. Here’s a little support. Her temperament even mirrored my sister’s—gentle, quiet, loving. And if that wasn’t enough, her birthday falls three days after mine. It felt like divine alignment, like a gift chosen just for me.

When Crue came, she was cute but she wasn’t well—malnourished, underweight, with a patchy coat and fragile health. For reasons I didn't understand at the time, I was not deterred. I took her to the vet, adjusted her diet, and nursed her back to strength. And in caring for her, I noticed something stirring in me. The way I tended to her mirrored the way I needed to tend to myself: gently, consistently, with patience for healing. She became a living reminder that restoration takes time, but it’s possible.

Unlike my past pets, Crue didn’t overstimulate me or demand more than I could give. She fit. She reminded me what peace could feel like in daily life.

My Gift: An Emotional Support Dog

And in remembering that, I could finally look back on Maverick and Company with a different kind of gratitude. They weren’t mistakes—they were teachers. They showed me what love without alignment feels like, and how important it is to honor both your own limits and an animal’s needs. They prepared me to recognize what I truly needed in an emotional support dog: not just affection, but compatibility, calm, and a healing presence. Their stories paved the way for me to recognize Crue, not as “just another pet,” but as the right fit at the right time.

Crue didn’t erase my grief, but she gave it room to breathe. She reminded me that peace is found in the small, steady alignments between who you are and what you allow into your life. Maybe that’s the truest kind of emotional support: a bond that sits beside you, quietly, and helps you come home to yourself again.

The Journey of Healing with Crue

As I reflect on this journey, I realize that healing is not a linear path. It ebbs and flows, much like the river that runs through my community. Crue has been a constant presence during this season of grief, reminding me that it’s okay to take things one day at a time. Each moment spent with her reinforces the importance of self-care and the power of companionship. She curls up beside me, her warmth a gentle reminder that I am not alone. It’s in these moments that I understand the profound impact of having a companion who truly understands your heart.

Through my experiences with Maverick, Company, and now Crue, I’ve learned invaluable lessons about love and compatibility. It’s not just about having a pet; it’s about finding the right fit for your life. Each animal has its own unique energy, and recognizing what aligns with my own has been a journey of self-discovery. Opening my heart to Crue has been an act of vulnerability. It’s a reminder that it’s okay to seek support and to allow others to help us heal. In a world that often encourages us to be strong and self-sufficient, embracing vulnerability can be a powerful step toward growth.

A New Chapter Begins

As I continue this journey with Crue, I look forward to the new chapters that await us. Together, we will navigate the ups and downs of life, supporting each other through the challenges and celebrating the joys. Crue is not just a pet; she is a partner in my healing journey, a reminder that love can take many forms.

In closing, I invite you to consider your own relationships—whether with pets or people. Are they nurturing your spirit? Do they bring you peace? Remember, it’s okay to seek out connections that align with your needs. Just like Crue found her way to me, you too can find the support that resonates with your heart.