Echoes of the Willow

By Michelle Allen

Michelle Allen is a community storyteller dedicated to preserving the history and charm of Hesperia. Follow along at www.echoesofthewillow.com for more inspiring local stories.

It’s a question that stirs up more than just preference—it stirs up memory.

I’ve always considered myself a dog person. Loyal companions, goofy grins, the kind of love that jumps into your lap and stays there. But I grew up on a rural farm where both dogs and cats roamed freely, and the truth is… my heart has room for both.

There’s a story my mom used to tell—one of those “tails” that sticks. I was just a baby, lying in my crib outside while she hung laundry in the Michigan breeze. Our cat, Smoky, would visit me often, curling up beside me, purring as I reached out to pet her. But when she tried to leave, I’d grab her tail—my tiny hands determined to keep her close. One day, Mom noticed something strange… all that tugging had dislocated Smoky’s tail. I didn’t mean harm—I just didn’t want her to go.

Since then, dogs became my steady companions.

There was Bimbo, a toy terrier–Pekingese mix with a Napoleon complex. He’d charge the biggest dogs in the yard like he was ten feet tall. A couple emergency vet visits later, we learned bravery doesn’t always come with good judgment.

And then there was Koko—a stunning Husky mix with a regal mane and the soul of a sentinel. Loyal to her core, she was trained not to wander far, and she rarely did… until one day adventure called. She and Bimbo, that fearless little terrier with a lion’s heart, decided to take a “road trip” through the woods.

They disappeared—two unlikely explorers—into acres of trees, eventually winding up lost nearly five miles from home. When Dad and I finally found them, they were anxious, confused, and overwhelmed… but the moment our eyes met, joy replaced every worry. From that day forward, they never left the safety of our yard. As if the forest had taught them that love meant being found.

Then came Buffy, a gentle Chihuahua mix rescued from Harbor Humane Society, where my sister Candy worked. Buffy was soft-spoken, sweet, and the kind of dog who made you feel safe just by sitting beside you.

And then there was Bullet—a black Lab–Rottweiler mix with a heart as big as his paws. He was my husband’s shadow, his road trip buddy, his protector. When my husband passed, Bullet became mine. My gluestick. My grief companion. He stayed until the end, and when he left last fall, it felt like losing another piece of home.

Now, life has shifted again. My boyfriend has cats—a whole colony of feral ones who’ve claimed his property as their own. They won’t come close, but we feed them, care for them, watch them from afar. And I find myself wondering: If only they knew how much they’d be loved. Cuddled. Spoiled.

So, dogs or cats?

Maybe it’s not about choosing. Maybe it’s about honoring the ones who’ve walked beside us—whether they bark, purr, or simply linger in memory.

Each one—Smoky, Bimbo, Buffy, Koko, and Bullet—was more than a pet. They were chapters. Companions. Little soul-anchors through seasons of joy, chaos, and loss.

Their pawprints weren’t just left on the porch. They marked the timeline of my soul.

Now, as I sit with the wild-eyed feral cats who circle just out of reach, I carry those memories softly. I hope one day these new arrivals might learn that love lives here. That being held isn’t something to fear, but something to come home to. 🐾🌿

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