Myrtel

Hi. It’s me again. Myrtel. Still Office Dog. Still Professional Greeter. Still Snack Enthusiast. I have a little update. You may remember that I told you I was getting adopted soon. And that part was true. There is a wonderful human out there who loves me very much and wanted to bring me home. But life did one of those things where it changes suddenly and without asking anyone’s permission. My person has had some big health changes—really big ones. The kind that make you stop and think hard about what you can handle, even when your heart wants one thing very badly. She made a very brave and very loving decision to step back, because right now she wouldn’t be able to give me what I need to feel safe and settle into a new home. That was not easy. For her or for me. I want you to know something important, though: This wasn’t a “no.” It was a “not the right time” kind of thing. And honestly? I understand that. I’ve learned a lot in this office about patience. About listening. About how love sometimes looks like holding on—and sometimes looks like letting go, even when it hurts. So for now, I’m still here. Still greeting people at the door. Still supervising the humans. Still checking trash cans and lunch boxes (for safety reasons). Still perfecting my butt-scratch preferences. I’ve also been continuing my personal growth journey. For example, I have recently discovered that clean laundry in baskets, waiting to be folded, makes excellent dog beds. I climb in very quietly when no one is looking. This feels correct. I am also allowing head pets now. Sometimes. Please respect my process. I’ve started howling at emergency service sirens when they go by. It feels important to participate. The shelter ladies are trying to teach me how to do it on command by yelling “HUZZAH.” They're weird, but I'm vibing with it. They even took me on a car ride to "get out of the house." I didn't hate it ... it was actually kind of fun to look out the window. I’m still brave. I’m still learning. I’m still becoming the best version of myself—one snack at a time. My future person is out there. I don’t know who they are yet, but I know this: they will be patient, and kind, and gentle. They will understand that I might need time. They will celebrate my progress and forgive my “experimental phases.” They will know that trust is something we build together. And to the human who loved me enough to put my needs first, even when it broke her heart—I see you. Thank you for caring about me that much. That kind of love matters. A lot. So don’t worry about me. I’m okay. I’m surrounded by people who care, dog beds (and laundry baskets) that remain impressively intact, and crumbs that continue to appear as if by magic. I’ll let you know when the next chapter begins. Love, Myrtel

Hi. It’s me again. Myrtel. Still Office Dog. Still Professional Greeter. Still Snack Enthusiast. I have a little update. You may remember that I told you I was getting adopted soon. And that part was true. There is a wonderful human out there who loves me very much and wanted to bring me home. But life did one of those things where it changes suddenly and without asking anyone’s permission. My person has had some big health changes—really big ones. The kind that make you stop and think hard about what you can handle, even when your heart wants one thing very badly. She made a very brave and very loving decision to step back, because right now she wouldn’t be able to give me what I need to feel safe and settle into a new home. That was not easy. For her or for me. I want you to know something important, though: This wasn’t a “no.” It was a “not the right time” kind of thing. And honestly? I understand that. I’ve learned a lot in this office about patience. About listening. About how love sometimes looks like holding on—and so

Hi. It’s me again. Myrtel. Still Office Dog. Still Professional Greeter. Still Snack Enthusiast. I have a little update. You may remember that I told you I was getting adopted soon. And that part was true. There is a wonderful human out there who loves me very much and wanted to bring me home. But life did one of those things where it changes suddenly and without asking anyone’s permission. My person has had some big health changes—really big ones. The kind that make you stop and think hard about what you can handle, even when your heart wants one thing very badly. She made a very brave and very loving decision to step back, because right now she wouldn’t be able to give me what I need to feel safe and settle into a new home. That was not easy. For her or for me. I want you to know something important, though: This wasn’t a “no.” It was a “not the right time” kind of thing. And honestly? I understand that. I’ve learned a lot in this office about patience. About listening. About how love sometimes looks like holding on—and sometimes looks like letting go, even when it hurts. So for now, I’m still here. Still greeting people at the door. Still supervising the humans. Still checking trash cans and lunch boxes (for safety reasons). Still perfecting my butt-scratch preferences. I’ve also been continuing my personal growth journey. For example, I have recently discovered that clean laundry in baskets, waiting to be folded,