by Sunny Weber

There comes a time in a person’s life when one must step outside the craziness of youthful arrogance, assumptions of grandiosity, and self-importance. Time-suck commitments and obligations must be re-evaluated. One must come to grips that things are changing. The body is becoming stiffer, high-decibel hearing is compromised, and words on a page are blurs without reading glasses.

One’s self-image seems to freeze at particular ages. The discovery of gray hair, facial laugh lines, and a thicker waist may signal aging to some people. For others the awareness comes as a shock—the result of a life-altering trauma. This moment for me came the morning after my last dog died.

Brillo was a small mixed breed who was my partner, friend, clown, and creative muse for almost seventeen years. He was close to eighteen years old when he died. In those years together, we shared our home with dozens of cats, dogs, and parakeets. Two dogs, Jessie and Bailey, were Brillo’s companions through his entire life, shy the eight months before he came to us as a severe medical issue foster dog. The rest were assorted fosters, strays, and boarders. For some reason Brillo, Bailey, and Jessie stayed, as others came, recovered, and graduated to new lives. We were four misfits who mysteriously came together through the karma of kindness and fit. The years flew by.

The morning after Brillo’s death I was engulfed in mourning. I realized that not only was I desolated by the loss of my canine companion, but Brillo’s absence marked the first time in thirty-four years that I did not have a dog at my side. Throughout the decades I had worked in animal welfare pet families had come and gone. I had experienced laughter, heartbreak, worry, frustration, joy, and gratitude for the years I spent in the company of other creatures—animals that enriched my life in ways that humans never did or could.

It all began when Miles, the Australian Shepherd puppy arrived when he was eight weeks old on June 17, 1990. It ended with Brillo’s death on April 26, 2024. I had woven the years together through strings of pet companions, animal welfare work in shelters, rescues, sanctuaries, stables, and multiple non-profit organizations for which I volunteered, managed, and fundraised.

Suddenly it was over. Suddenly I was alone. Suddenly I was old.

The following months I bumped through life. Every walk took me past reminders of the thousands of miles I had traversed with different dog families. Household chores became less frequent because there was less fur to vacuum and less laundry to do. The yard sat blank, still hosting wild birds and squirrels but devoid of canine shenanigans, barking, and poop pick-up. There was no reason to pop out of bed in the morning to allow dogs outside. There were no toys to trip over, bowls to wash, or expensive veterinarian bills to pay. The seamless flow from one pet family to the next screeched to a stop in the silence of an empty home. Time became muted and empty.

By my figuring I still had maybe twenty years of existence left. How would I fill it? Would I be content to sit idle—to retire? Were there animals who would perish because I was no longer there to save them? Would my own aches and pains become more blaring in the deafness of lost animal care-taking?

What had my life meant? Would my existence cease to have meaning? Was I about to become obsolete? Was it possible to rebuild some sort of contributory pathway? Or could/should I continue to contribute? Was it worth it?

Slowly I awakened from mourning. When I was asked to become the chairperson of a board of directors for an animal welfare nonprofit that I had volunteered for, I took it on. It was a smaller scale than the larger organizations that I had juggled previously. It was small, personal, and instead of being a tiny cog in a large wheel, this group promised me less impact on a smaller audience but impact nonetheless.

Other area organizations had grown in influence and I was welcomed. I found my years of personal and professional development augmented the evolution of more complex groups of altruistic involvements that had not been in existence when I began my work with animals. I was excited to be valued and was relieved to see so many young people coming into the fold who could continue and grow the work my generation had started so many years ago.

Over the decades of my involvement, the animal welfare industry had exploded with new career opportunities, stronger advocacy, and increased technological advancements. Instead of loosely knitted individuals making poorly-funded and badly managed attempts to care for animals, the years had given birth to truly professional, intricately organized, and powerful representation of thousands of groups who had ever-increasing reaches past formerly fly-by-night, but well-intentioned clumps of special interest folks.

I had had a front-row seat in the revolution. Although hands-on animal care had become more difficult on my aging body, my cognitive abilities had sharpened, my wisdom had grown roots in multitudes of experiences, and I realized the importance of reaching back—mentoring up-and-coming young people who would take animal welfare and advocacy into the future.

Brillo’s spirit joined all my other long-gone pets and goaded me into writing a book about my own watching and participating in social and cultural change regarding animals and their roles in human development. When I lost a dog to cancer in 1999 I was told by supposedly close friends, “He was just a dog. Get over it.”

“Just a dog”? That dog had taught me things no university could have. Shadow brought me over the bridge of selfish young adulthood to the middle age awareness of responsibility, kindness, and true commitment. “Get over it” indeed. I needed new friends.

In 2005 I lost two dogs three weeks apart. In that short period of time from Shadow and then Miles and Muffin leaving my life, I received flowers, sympathy cards, and heartfelt hugs from people who knew and understood the profound loss the death of a true family member rendered those left behind.

Veterinary care exploded in scientific advancements. Nutritional knowledge and quality grew. The fact of sentience in animals was no longer laughed at. Animal emotions were acknowledged and studied. Cruelty, abuse, and neglect was increasingly punished by legislation. Laws were passed for minimal quality of life treatment of animals who were under human dominion. Environmental impact on the life of wild animals resulted in actions to preserve habitats and educate about our fellow planetary inhabitants.

Brillo was right. I had to write about all the positive, hard-won victories I was witness to. My part of the evolution of the human species was minuscule at best, but without minuscule efforts by millions of people like me, nothing would be accomplished. And so, I sat down and wrote.

Skoocumchoocher: An Inspiring Journey of a Life in Animal Welfare was the result. It allowed me to delve into the memories, lessons learned, and experiences burned into my heart and mind. It gave me a chance to thank those who mentored and taught me. I was able to acknowledge those who influenced me—in bad ways as well as good. Throughout the book, stories of animals I worked with solidified why I devoted my life to this over-arching mission of animal welfare.

Some people specialize. They find particular areas of interest and talent and go deep into the development of their knowledge and skills. Others do what I did. So much—basically everything—about animals fascinated me, so I moved from one area of animal involvement to another. I jumped into volunteer work. I opened my home to the sick, the injured, the rejected, the fearful, and the vulnerable. I opened my heart to the needy, the distrustful, the lonely. I used my physical youth and strength to feed, exercise, train, groom, and clean. I used my financial resources to pay for medical necessities, provide for the needs of animals who never had resources, and to pay for further education in all the areas of care of wanted to know about. I now needed to use my maturity to light the path for the next generation of passionate, generous, intelligent animal lovers.

Few people I have known in our world of loving animals have had as many, as diverse, as long-time involvement as I have folded into the years of my life. I am not outstanding in any one aspect. I am not famous. I am not rich. I am not a celebrity. I am like the majority of folks who work with animals. We share a common, quiet mission. We do what we can. We save lives.

Looking back at the years of my work, I have seen a steady evolution of compassion. I have seen humans who privately do the work. I have seen all the “insignificant” animal lives that have benefited from each person’s efforts.

There is hope for the homo sapiens species. I am proud to have been part of the evolution.

Note: Skookumchoocher: An Inspiring Journey of a Life in Animal Welfare will be available in hard cover, paperback, ebook, and audio book on Amazon.com in April, 2026