Lainey's Story

We didn't go looking for a third dog — but we had always kept a space open for the right one. Particularly a mama dog. We knew enough about how commercial breeding works to know that the dogs who spend their lives producing litters are the ones who need homes most and find them least. So we kept that space open and waited.

A Facebook post filled it. A local animal clinic had rescued five French Bulldogs and was looking for homes. We already had two Frenchies — Charlie, four years old and the uncontested boss of the house, and Stevie, three, who had appointed herself activities director. I saw the post, sent it to Jaimie, and she had already applied before I finished typing the message.

We went through the vet check and application process and got the chance to meet two of the dogs. Lainey found me within about thirty seconds of walking in and didn't leave my side for the rest of the visit. That was it. We took her home that day — and when we walked in the door, Charlie went to her immediately, calm and certain, like she already understood something we didn't quite have words for yet.

She was two years old. She had already had a few litters. She came with ear infections and splayed paws from years on wire flooring. She had never had a toy. She didn't know what a treat was.

When we got her home, Charlie and Stevie took her in immediately. Charlie went to her first — steady and watchful, the way she always is. Stevie circled, curious and enthusiastic, the way she always is.

Lainey seemed excited and relieved in equal measure. But at night, instead of sleeping in the new bed we bought her, she would scratch at the wood floors and lie down — sometimes in a corner, sometimes in the space between Charlie and Stevie's beds. Not on them. Between them. Like she needed to know they were there but didn't yet believe she was allowed to stay.

She didn't know what a treat was the first time we offered her one. She sniffed it, looked at us, looked at it, walked away. Now she hears the cabinet open from two floors up. I call her Cookie Monster. This is accurate.

Stevie showed her how to play. Patiently, persistently, in the way that only another dog can. Within a few weeks Lainey had learned what toys were for. Now toys don't stand a chance — she and Stevie play tug of war until something tears, or they both bring me the same ball at the same time expecting me to throw it again.

It took about a month before she started coming up on the couch. Now she sunbathes in the front doorway with Charlie and Stevie, runs in the backyard like she's always known what a backyard is, and has learned to go up the stairs. Down remains a work in progress.

She is my shadow. Wherever I go in the house, she goes. Not in an anxious way — in a decided way, like she made a choice and she's committed to it.

When she runs or gets excited, she hops. Not like a dog runs. Like a baby goat. Full vertical launch, all four feet off the ground, completely unconcerned with how this looks. When she's really excited she makes noises that can only be described as gremlin sounds. We have no other word for them.

She is terrified of the recycle bin when it's full of bottles and cans. The sound of it sends her to the other room. She's nervous around certain people and certain bangs. She has decided the vacuum is a threat to my personal safety and that it is her responsibility to rescue me from it every single time.

She has one floppy ear. Her left. It never quite got the memo that it was supposed to stand up like the other one. It is, without question, her best feature.

Just seeing her run in the backyard — watching how happy she is — is an amazing feeling. She is my sidekick. She earned it.

When we found out where Lainey came from we got angry. Not sad — angry. The specific kind of angry that makes you want to build something.

But this wasn't the first time.

In 2008, before we knew anything about any of this, we bought our first dog — a Chihuahua named Madison Grace. Maddie. We thought we did everything right. We asked questions. We asked to meet the parents. We asked about health testing. We were told everything we wanted to hear. We found out later that the person we bought her from was buying puppies from a mill pipeline down south and bringing them north to sell. We had been lied to, completely, while asking exactly the right questions.

Maddie had some health issues throughout her life. She was with us for thirteen years. We loved her completely. She passed away in 2021.

We also rescued a Chihuahua named Mason in 2009. He was about a year old when he came to us, and he was with us until last year.

So we have been on both sides of this. We bought from what turned out to be a mill pipeline without knowing it. We rescued. We kept a space open for a mama dog and waited until the right one needed us. We have watched what the difference looks like over a lifetime with a dog.

TheLaineyProject is not the work of people who stumbled onto this issue. It is the work of people who have been living with it since 2008 and finally had enough.

She is currently asleep somewhere near me as this is being written. One ear up, one ear not. She seems happy. That is the whole point.

— Tom & Jaimie