One Year of Biscuit

Today marks exactly one year since we drove to the Wake County SPCA and came home with this fluffy chaos machine.

One Year of Biscuit

I was convinced we needed something small and manageable. Marcus wanted something “cool.” Theo took one look at the pudgiest golden retriever puppy in the pen and that was it. Game over. We were outnumbered by a ten-week-old dog.

I keep thinking about timing. We got Biscuit right when the world started falling apart. Right when I started working longer shifts at the hospital, when Marcus began working from home permanently, when the kids couldn’t see their friends. None of us knew what we were doing with anything, let alone a puppy who seemed determined to eat every shoe in the house.

But here’s the thing about Biscuit - he has this supernatural ability to know exactly when someone needs him.

this face after a twelve-hour shift

When I come home from a particularly hard shift, exhausted and carrying the weight of everything I’ve seen, he doesn’t jump or bark or demand attention. He just puts his head on my lap and wags his tail, and for a moment everything feels okay again. When Theo has a nightmare, Biscuit somehow appears at his bedside. When Sophie’s frustrated with remote learning, he’ll drop a tennis ball at her feet like “let’s take a break.”

I used to think we rescued Biscuit, but I’m pretty sure it was the other way around. Best decision we never planned to make.