“Leila wasn’t just a dog—she was family from the very beginning.
I drove three hours to get her. She had spent her first months on a chicken farm, living in a barn. When I got there, the other puppies were loud and hyper, all fighting for attention. But there was one that was different—calm, quiet, almost overlooked.
I waited by the small fence, and she saw me.
She walked over slowly, gently, and I reached my hand down. She licked it—and from that moment on, she didn’t leave my side. Another family was coming up to look at the litter, and I knew instantly: that’s the one.
I brought her home in the front seat. On the drive back, she climbed over the center console and fell asleep in my lap. What should’ve been a five-hour drive turned into something more—it felt like we already belonged to each other.
I didn’t tell anyone I got her. I let her roam the house until my mom came home. She was upset for about thirty seconds—until that little Labrador puppy ran up to her like she was already part of the family. From that moment on, she was.
Leila lived the way she wanted to. She wasn’t a hunting dog—she was one of us. She would wander the house and choose who she wanted to sleep with. Some nights with me, some nights with my siblings, but eventually always finding her way to my mom’s room with our other dog.
She had her own little habits that we never tried to change, because that’s what made her her.
She loved the snow more than anything. Every winter, she would burst out the door, jump into the snow, roll around, and slide down hills like it was the greatest thing in the world. She would sit on top of snowbanks just to take it all in.
She loved to lay under the Christmas tree. She loved sitting in the rain, just sniffing the air. She would walk through the garden and bite the heads off flowers, then crawl under the hostas and lily plants to hang out. We used to think she wandered off—but really, she was just laying there peacefully with the wild rabbits nearby.
Even the little things—like habits she picked up early in life—were just part of where she came from. We never wanted to change her. We wanted her to be exactly who she was.
She greeted everyone with a wagging tail, every single day. No matter what kind of day you had, she was at the door, happy to see you like nothing else mattered.
She trusted us completely. She knew we would protect her, and we always did. To us, she wasn’t “just a dog”—she was one of us, and we stood up for her the same way we would for family.
Leila was the greatest family dog we could have ever asked for.
She gave us loyalty, comfort, and a kind of love that doesn’t change—even at the end.
She will always be remembered, and always be part of our family.”
Leila is remembered by her family and loving companion, Logan.
One Response
I left out an important detail. We spelled her name as either Leila or Layla, depending on what felt right.
Her name actually came from my sisters—they wanted to name her, and I agreed as long as it had two syllables and a meaningful origin.
They chose Leila, which we interpreted as meaning dark brown bear—a calm, northern presence.
At the time, she was just called “puppy,” but she responded instantly to both “puppy” and “Leila.”