Grief Gave Me Direction
How a dog, social media, and grief reshaped my life—and what I’m building in her name.
When I adopted my dog, Maggie, I was utterly lost.
Fresh out of grad school. Living with my mom. Unemployed. Missing my life abroad. Disillusioned with the career path I had spent twenty-five years meticulously building toward.
I woke up every day without direction. I would walk to Starbucks, open my laptop, and apply to job after job after job. Roles I didn’t want. Futures I didn’t believe in. I avoided friends. I avoided living. I was embarrassed by how unmoored I felt.
I thought adopting a dog would bring me some simple happiness—fulfill a childhood dream. Light up the little girl who always wanted a dog of her own.
But Maggie gave me so much more than brief joy.
She gave me roots. She gave me responsibility. She gave me something steady when I was anything but. For the first time in my life, someone needed me to show up.
Shortly after adopting her, I got a job, moved to California, and settled into my new life as a dog mom. I shared our life online with no intention of building anything larger.
Until a few years later when I was on a work trip in Guatemala. I spent my days working and my evenings feeding stray dogs.
Just three days before my flight home, I found Bear. I was walking to my hotel from work and I stumbled across the most emaciated dog I had ever seen. He was so thin he looked folded in on himself. Too weak to lift his head. I offered him food, but he was too exhausted to even acknowledge me. I had never felt so helpless and desperate.
I ran to the nearest store, bought a leash and collar, and walked him four miles across Antigua in the rain. Vet after vet turned us away before one finally agreed to treat him.
We were both soaked and shaking by the time we reached my hotel. I begged the front desk to let him inside. I promised to pay for any damage.
I had no plan and no money. He was too sick to fly. No local rescues were taking intakes. So I turned to Maggie’s followers—twenty-five thousand strangers around the world.
And they showed up.
Within twenty-four hours, we had funding. We had connections. We had a path forward. Bear lived because thousands of people decided he mattered. That was when it hit me that I wasn’t alone. This page was not just sharing mine and Maggie’s life, it was a community of people who care about animals.
After Bear, I couldn’t pretend this was casual anymore. People weren’t just liking photos. They were wiring money across borders. This page had become a network.
And once you realize you have a network, you carry responsibility differently.
For the next year, I continued fundraising to support the rescue that saved Bear. Until Maggie got sick.
At the time, I was working multiple jobs and barely keeping my own head above water. I was ashamed of how much I was struggling. I had built a life that looked impressive on paper, but couldn’t absorb a crisis. The vet bills stacked quickly. I accumulated nearly $14,000 in debt.
I sold my car to cover her care.
There is something humbling about liquidating your own mobility for someone else’s survival. I didn’t regret it for a second. I relied on friends to help me get around and just kept working towards affording a car.
Then the first brand deal came through.
I remember staring at the number on the screen in disbelief. Overnight, I had enough money to buy a used Honda CRV and pay down almost half my debt. The relief was overwhelming.
Over the next six months, I paid off the rest of my debt.
That’s when it really clicked that this page could do so much more than I had ever considered. It could pull me out of survival mode and into something intentional.
Then I met Piggy.
He was the sweetest dog living in rural Spain, battling Leishmaniasis. I wanted more than anything to save him. People around the world rallied to help me get him out. And although that case did not end the way we hoped, Piggy’s story saved so many lives.
In one week, we raised $25,000.
Twenty-five thousand dollars from strangers who cared. Every dollar was distributed to underfunded rescue organizations working on the ground.
What started as a page about one dog became the beginning of a movement. A global community of people who want to make this world better and kinder for animals.
I stopped thinking in terms of single emergencies and started thinking in terms of systems.
What would it look like to fund clinics regularly?
To support rescues predictably?
To create something that didn’t depend on one viral moment?
I left my stable job and put all my energy into Maggie’s social media. And for a while it was genuinely fun. Spending my days with my dog, fundraising for rescues, going on adventures, and making an impact. Our page grew and opportunities poured in.
The larger the page grew, the more visible I became. And visibility has a cost.
I had my address doxxed twice by antisemitic groups. I had to leave my home and my belongings behind.
When you become visible online, you become a projection surface. People pour their anger, their prejudice, their unresolved pain onto you.
It was destabilizing. But it clarified what I am willing to endure.
For years, I learned to absorb pressure—financial, public, personal.
None of that prepared me for losing her.
When Maggie died, I wanted to unravel. For a few months I did.
Grief clarified what I want my life to look like. I realized I don’t want to build someone else’s vision. I don’t want to measure success by titles or proximity to power. I want to build spaces where animals are safe.
For years, I had been asking who I was meant to become. Maggie gave me an answer.
What began as a social media page is becoming something larger. I’m writing a book about her—about how a dog can change the world. I’m fostering overlooked dogs in her name. I’m working toward land, toward partnerships, toward systems that protect animals and wildlife.
I don’t know the final form yet.
A sanctuary.
Conservation land.
A foundation.
Something I haven’t even imagined.
But I know this: it will be real. It will save lives. It will protect animals long after I am gone.
Maggie gave me roots when I had none.
Now I intend to grow a legacy that outlives us both.
Jennifer, I relate to this so deeply.
I started sharing my fostering journey online just because I loved the dogs. I had no bigger plan. And like you, it slowly turned into this incredible community of people who genuinely care about senior rescue dogs. At some point it stopped feeling casual and started feeling meaningful.
I also carry that same longing to do more. To build something lasting. Something that exists beyond posts and platforms. A real legacy in honor of the dogs who shaped me.
And your grief… I feel that in my bones. I unexpectedly lost my dog Holly back in October and I’m still trying to find light inside that kind of darkness. It changes you. It rearranges you.
I actually started writing on Substack as part of my healing process. Your words are incredibly inspiring. They make me feel less alone in wanting to turn love and loss into something that lasts.
Thank you for sharing this. Truly.
I recently lost my 2 Angel's a month apart. I am so gutted I can't talk about it yet. I can't breathe, I can't sleep, I can't stop crying💔 The pain is haunting.