Prairie Rose, Our Pandemic Pup

I was never really a dog person.

That’s how these stories usually start, isn’t it? But here I am, five years later, utterly smitten by a 15-pound swirl of black, beige, and white fluff named Prairie Rose.

She was born on May 24, 2020, in sunny Rio Linda, California, and just eight weeks later—thanks to some persistent and strategic campaigning by my children—we brought her home. “Home” was where we had been locked down like the rest of the world during the early months of the pandemic, which made her arrival feel even more like a shaft of sunlight piercing the gloom.

I give full credit (and possibly a lifetime supply of treats) to Mercy and Jeremiah, who teamed up like little PR professionals to win me over. Their campaign included a Google Slide presentation with bullet points like “hypoallergenic,” “great with kids,” “low-shedding,” “adorable floppy ears,” and “snuggle expert.” They knew their audience. And they were right. Prairie Rose is all of those things and more.

From the moment she wriggled into our arms and hearts, I was a goner.

In those early days, I’d walk around the house calling out, “Where’s the baby?” and then catch myself—realizing I wasn’t talking about Mercy or Jeremiah (both teenagers now), but about this tiny dog who had somehow become the emotional epicenter of our home. She has an uncanny ability to sense when someone needs company. She’s the first to greet us at the door, the last to leave our side when we’re sad or sick, and the ideal snuggle partner during Sunday afternoon naps.

She also has a variety of nicknames, as beloved pets do. “Rosie Toes.” “Prayer-Bear.” “Mi perrito.” Sometimes just “The Baby.” Occasionally “Your Majesty,” depending on how imperiously she demands a belly rub.

Fun fact: in Australia, Cavapoos are called Cavoodles. Which, if you ask me, sounds slightly more dignified and slightly less like something your uncle might get diagnosed with. Maybe it’s time we rebrand her: Prairie Rose, our royal Cavoodle.

This past May, she turned five. Five years of tail wags, couch cuddles, bedtime routines (yes, she has one), and being the center of our daily rhythm. She was born into a world locked down and uncertain, and yet somehow, she unlocked something in us—a softness, a joy, a kind of shared affection I didn’t know I needed.

I will never stop being grateful for the day we drove down to Rio Linda to bring her home.

We love you, Prairie. You are, without a doubt, the best thing to come out of 2020.