“Brown.” That was the answer I gave when people asked what kind of dog Rowdy was. We never knew anything about his background, and even the DNA test came back with “mixed breed” for almost 90 percent of his family tree. That meant he was a 100 percent authentic Texas Brown Dog.

In 2004 my boyfriend and I decided it was a good time to adopt a dog, since I was starting a new job at a doggy daycare. I started scouring the Internet for our new family member, but my boyfriend rejected every photo I showed him. No. Nope. Not that one. Next. Then one day I found him. We were not looking for a young dog, but there he was on the website for the PAWS Shelter in Kyle, Texas. A two-month-old tan puppy with one white sock, adorable ears, big dark eyes, and an unimpressed look on his face. We agreed: we had to have him.

I figured our new dog would be extremely well adjusted, what with meeting all the new people and dogs at my workplace. And he was, if his environment was limited to things he was familiar with. But new things were spooky, and as Rowdy got older, he got more particular. Strange adults were threatening, and don’t even think about having children around. Managing Rowdy became a full-time job. We couldn’t have new people over or go out in public without having to constantly watch for threats.

It was exhausting at times, but if I could do it all over again, I absolutely would. I felt that all the extra work meant I had a better relationship with Rowdy, as I had to always be aware of his thoughts and feelings. Rowdy was not particularly affectionate, either, which just made it even more special if he came to me for brief ear rubs—I knew he wouldn’t accept that from just anybody. We took many hikes alone in beautiful, quiet areas, and my fondest memories include beach visits with no one else around, family road trips to a secluded mountain village in Colorado where we explored peaks and lakes, and Rowdy rolling in the cool sand after a thunderstorm had cleared out the crowds at Great Sand Dunes National Park.

Rowdy was a once-in-a-lifetime companion. He was my heart dog.

In 2015, Rowdy was diagnosed with degenerative arthritis. We also received a surprise diagnosis: a malignant thyroid tumor. He received surgery and chemotherapy, which was surprisingly easy on him and would grant us several more years together. While we couldn’t go on the long hikes we used to, we still enjoyed easy, short walks in a nearby neighborhood.

Eventually Rowdy’s cancer returned, as we knew it would. He passed away peacefully at home in March 2019 at the age of fourteen, and he’s buried under a tree on our ten-acre Hill Country property.