I don’t know why it hit me that night, but I couldn’t stop staring at Ruby’s paws.
We were just sitting on the couch at the end of the day—the kind of tired where everything finally slows down. I think I was watching TV or maybe reading, but either way, nothing important. Just quiet. And she was curled up next to me in that way she does, completely relaxed, completely herself.
And there they were—her paws.
I’ve always noticed them. It’s kind of hard not to. They’re big. Like… surprisingly big. Especially for a dog who is technically short (but also very long). But that night, the way she was sitting, the way they rested there so heavily and calmly—it just struck me.
They felt like her.
Ruby is this mix of sweetness and chaos that somehow works perfectly together. She’s full of love, but also full of energy and just enough fiestiness to keep things interesting. One minute she’s upside down, legs in the air, completely content. The next she’s sprinting across the house, going after a toy—or me, or Braden, or one of the other dogs—with full determination.
She is not light on her feet. We call her our “house hippo” for a reason.
And yet, she’s also graceful… in her own way. Or at least she carries herself like she is, even when she’s not.
Those paws—big, warm, a little rough, with long nails and soft hair—they match all of it. They’re not delicate. They’re not quiet. They land with purpose. They belong to a dog who is fully here, fully alive, fully part of everything going on around her.
Maybe that’s why I kept looking at them.
Or maybe it’s just that I finally had a second to notice.
I think about how easy it is to miss these little things during the day—the details that are right in front of you all the time. And then every once in a while, when things slow down, something small suddenly feels important.
But this feels bigger than that, too.
Before Ruby, we had Bailey. And Bailey was my baby. I don’t think I fully understood how much of a space she held in my heart until she was gone. There was a quiet there for a while.
And then Ruby came in—paws first, personality right behind them—and filled it in a completely different way.
She’s not the same. She was never supposed to be. But she’s something special.
If her paws could tell a story, it wouldn’t be a quiet one. It would be about running, and playing, and loving people and other dogs. It would be about sitting outside with me, or curling up next to me at the end of the day like she did that night. It would be about being exactly who she is without hesitation.
And maybe that’s what I was really noticing.
Not just her paws.
Just… her.
And how easy she is to love.
If you want to meet the rest of the crew (and read more about Ruby), you can here: http://sarahulmer.com/meet-the-dogs-who-run-our-house/