Picture it, the summer of 2018. A beautiful young girl of only sixty years old sets out for her shiny new gig at that fab Renn Faire up by that Great Lake. I had work booked for weeks, a fancy new role in Her Majesty’s Court, and my beautiful young rescue dog, Beverly the Beagle. The summer ahead looked pretty fabulous.

Wasn’t she lovely indeed? Beautiful Beverly the Beagle. Long gone across the Rainbow Bridge.

Secondary to my amazing gig was the opportunity to be away from He Who Is Almost Divorced for at least nine weeks. It was already clear, even almost six years ago, that he was absolutely no longer in love with me, and had begun the Bad Boyfriend Behaviors. You know, the passive aggressive ways a man indicates to his wife that she’s no longer lovable, but she is welcome to live in the marital home rent free if she keeps up the laundry & housework. I had to hit the road and earn some dough and be by myself.

Tragically, the lovely Beverly met with an accident while I was away from cast housing, and she didn’t make it. This is not that story.

This is the story of what came next. Or rather, Who came next.

And, she was an avid gardener in our former life. Today she’s an expert on NYC parks within walking distance!

I couldn’t stay with the show. I just couldn’t. My heart was broken. So I made a choice to drive straight back to Minnesota the next day, walking away from a great opportunity but unable to bear the pain of my loss. I was listening to Sirius XM that night, somewhere past Buffalo on the way west, as Rachel Maddow broke down crying as she described the “tender age babies” being separated from their mothers at the border. Probably the most crying and driving I have ever done at one time. Poor little empty dog crate in my back seat, driving home to a husband I knew didn’t want me, unemployed again, and shattered.

And if you know me, you’ll be unsurprised to find that I immediately started stalking rescue dogs on the shelter website where I’d adopted dearest departed little Beverly.

Of course I had written them a heartfelt email a few days after returning to Minnesota, describing how poor Beverly the Beagle had come out of her traumatized shell and had many happy days, walked many happy miles, had led a good life in her short time. I was devastated, and deeply concerned that they wouldn’t let me adopt again. But they were so understanding. They assured me that sometimes, traumatized dogs don’t come out of their shells at all, so this was a victory… and, that sometimes little rescue doggies are lost to accidents, and that they sent comfort and understanding as I grieved.

Then there was little “Beasley”. I kept coming back to her photo. She had Doggie Longing in her eyes. She was listed as a two-year-old Beagle mix, and she looked lonesome. So it wasn’t very long before I reached out and asked about her. The rescue service lady got right back to me, saying she was wondering if “Beasley” might be a good fit for me. So I decided to go over and check on that dog. Is she nice? Would we be companionable?

There had been an outbreak of kennel cough at the main shelter facility, so the healthy dogs had been separated out to private homes. This one was a doozy, just huge, on easily a ¾ acre suburban lot. My friend from the Rescue showed me to a large family room, opened the French doors to her capacious backyard, and in came the dogs. Dogs! Dogs!! DOGS!!!!!! There were big ones, little ones, scruffy ones, sleek ones, every dog in the known universe was apparently pouring in through the French doors, and out of the middle in a real-life Disney movie just for me, came charging the happiest, bounciest, most energetic DOGGIEEEEE you ever saw! Pulling up floor with her front paws as she scrambled, making a beeline towards me, shouting, “You’re here! You’re here! You’re finally here!!”

And BOOM! Into my arms she came as I squatted down to greet her. She threw her forelegs around my neck and held on with her curiously articulated huge paws, looked me straight in the eye, and said, “I’m your dog! Let’s go home!”

And I thought, Cool! Talking dog!🤣

And that was it. Foster Failure in progress! There will be only Adoption! NOW!

This was no Beasley. This, my friends, was Amy Farah Howler, Dog of My Dreams, My Big Beautiful Brown and Black Baby Beagle Buddy.

When I took her to the vet for her spay and to complete her shots, she was revealed to be a starving Beagle puppy of around eight months! Not only was she a pure Beagle, she was in need of proper nutrition and exercise so she could grow into herself. Suddenly I saw how skinny my new doggie was, how large her head was for her body, how outsize those big Beagle paws were. And that’s when I became a big ol’ Beagle nerd, learning everything I could about the breed and about my new friend.

And so, for the past eight years, she has been my companion and my pal. Amy Farah Howler has seen me through Covid, water on the knee, the Tragic Career-Ending Dance Rehearsal Injury of 2019, and now my third divorce. She’s been to the beach, she’s walked me all over everything west of Goulden Avenue in the Bronx, and she’s peed in eight states of the Union. While I was married, she was required to sleep in a crate. There hasn’t been a crate since May, and she sleeps with me every night, which is fine with both of us. Her dog love keeps me happy, and her long walks keep me healthy.

Here’s to you, Amy Farah Howler, my Valentine. Adopt Don’t Shop. Betty White was right about everything.

Bow wow wow, darlings.

Happy Valentine’s Day to you and your dog, from all of us here at Happy Cat Ranch Productions!