We said goodbye to our sweet Betty on the afternoon of March 17th, 2026.
Betty was what they call a “foster fail.” Her gotcha date was April 9th, 2021, and while we never knew her exact age, we believe she was around two years old when she came into my life. What I do know with absolute certainty is that she changed it forever.
When I first fostered her, I wasn’t in a good place. COVID had taken a toll on me mentally. I had just walked away from what was supposed to be a dream job, nearly lost the love of my life, and found myself back at home trying to figure things out. I was hurting. Deeply.
Then Betty showed up.
What started as fostering quickly became something much bigger. Choosing to adopt her was life-changing. She gave me purpose when I felt lost. She forced me to get out of my own head, to show up, to be better. I’ve said it for years, and I mean it with everything I have—I didn’t rescue her, she rescued me.
Betty had a way about her that’s hard to put into words. Calm, loving, steady. People felt it immediately. Most of the time, people greeted her before they greeted me—and honestly, that felt right. From our early struggles on walks at Malley Valley, to adventures in the backcountry of Tiger Mountain and Raging River, to quietly spending days in an engineering office in Bellevue, she left a mark everywhere she went.
Nicole and I used to joke that Betty was Renton’s therapy dog. Based on how people responded to her, I think there’s a lot of truth in that. She brought comfort, peace, and connection wherever she was.
Her passing came quickly, due to the rapid progression of cancer. When her behavior, appetite, and mobility began to change, we knew it was time. Making that decision was the hardest thing we’ve ever done, but it was also the last act of love we could give her.
The hole she left behind feels impossibly large. I don’t know if it will ever truly be filled. But in the days since, I’ve been reminded of the incredible community we’re part of—so many people reaching out to share how much she meant to them. That says everything about the kind of dog she was.
We had Betty privately cremated, and her ashes will be spread in the places she loved most—from the mountains to the sea. It feels right that, just like in life, she’ll continue to leave her mark all across the west coast.
Thank you to everyone who loved her, who stopped to say hello, who saw what made her so special. And thank you to WAMAL for giving me the opportunity to care for her and share her with the world.
Run free, Betty. You were one of a kind. 🌈🐾
