Three and a half years ago around Christmas time the first dog I ever had (I dislike the term owned) passed away from a combination of old age and cancer. She was a 13-year-old independent-spirited purebred fawn pug named Gizmo. She left behind two furry brothers Duke and Billy. I wasn’t ready to open my heart again until recently when I was looking through rescue dog postings and came across a six month Border Collie/Plott Hound mix with a big smile. I went to visit her on Sunday at a local Humane Society farm. The gangly pup approached me with a joyful expression on her face and I was hooked! I hated separating her from her siblings, but the rescue manager assured me not to worry — her siblings were going to good families. Upon arriving at her new home, Duke and Billy initially greeted her with interrogation sniffing, but soon after they rubbed noses and frolicked together in the yard. The shelter named her Zena, but that didn’t fit her super shy and sweet personality, so I renamed her Bella. She is slowly adjusting to her new surroundings and Duke and Billy have taken to their roles as big brothers, showing her the ropes. I look forward to many fun years ahead with Bella.