Presley

Presley (aka Fatty, Doopy, Stoopy, Stinky, Bippy, and many other loving nonsense names) passed away peacefully at home on June 23, 2025 at the age of sixteen, after fighting GI lymphoma for nine months.

Presley was rescued as a stray in Texas by Paws New England, sometime around 2014, and was transported to New England to better her chances of adoption. She began fostering with me in August of 2016, after the passing of my dog Harley that spring. Presley was a joy from the beginning, and a bright light at a time that my life felt dark with grief. I quickly foster-failed. She was simultaneously serious and goofy, easy-going but enthusiastic - she was happy to lay around at home, but would go absolutely bonkers on outings. She loved going for walks and car rides, hikes and adventures. When it was time to go out, she would zoom around the house at top speed, often crashing into walls and furniture with excitement.

Presley had challenges when she was first rescued. She had been attacked by other dogs during her time as a stray, and her fear caused her to be reactive to dogs. For the first year she was with me, she was so reactive on leash that we couldn't walk anywhere we might encounter another dog. Other times, she was so nervous she would lay down and refuse to move. With time, and with the help of the amazing trainer at Outbound Hounds, Presley learned to feel safe in her environment and around other dogs. Her confidence grew so much that eventually she was able to not only walk with other dogs, but cohabitate with them.

Presley and I shared a parallel journey of trust and healing. Like her, I had experienced trauma in the past, and felt that my fear isolated me from the rest of the world. I had sought treatment for PTSD several times before Presley came into my life, but was unable to make progress. After adopting Presley, my therapist at the time suggested that I try bringing her to sessions. It was like she was the missing puzzle piece. Before, I had found myself paralyzed in my therapy sessions, unable to speak about my trauma. When I brought Presley along, she jumped up on the couch next to me and leaned her head against my chest. After years of trying, I finally felt safe enough to speak. That first session with her marked the beginning of my journey to healing. We went to therapy every week for the rest of our years together.

With Presley, I learned to do things I had been too afraid to do alone before. I traveled, with her riding shotgun. I hiked alone, with her leading the way. Many mornings we would go to the ocean to watch the sun rise over the water, and she would sit on guard with her back to me, alerting me if anyone else was nearby. She gave me the confidence and the strength to live my life to the fullest.

Presley’s days were defined by joy. She was the happiest dog I’ve ever met. It didn’t matter if we were going on a short walk around the neighborhood or embarking on a road trip - whatever the occasion, she was over the moon about it. People described her as gentle and sweet, one friend remarking once how “kind and mild-mannered” she was. Everywhere she went, she changed peoples’ opinions on pitbull-type dogs. She was a big, strong girl, with a serious face, and often surprised people by how friendly and gentle she was. She loved children, and exhibited a bottomless patience with them, calmly allowing them to pet her ears and her little nub of a tail. She loved to give kisses.

Her favorite thing to do, besides be with me, was eat. That girl was a pig, up until her last day earthside. She loved carrots, broccoli, and apples, as well as anything else she could fit in her mouth - whether it was edible or not. She once ate two pounds of freshly harvested raw potatoes and was known by the vet (after a very expensive visit) as the potato girl from then on. She was always getting into trouble, but whatever bad thing she did was always funny.

She loved to snuggle and be cozy. At bedtime, she would tuck herself in next to me under the covers. If she was on the couch without a blanket, she would grumble and huff until tucked in. I had a philodendron tree that she loved to lay under, and I would always find her sharing the sun with it, resting her head in its big leaves.

As much time as she spent in couch potato mode, she spent living it up. In her life, she traveled to 32 states and Quebec. She saw the total solar eclipse of 2024 (though she didn’t have much to say about it). She lived on an organic farm in beautiful downeast Maine with me for four years, where she had free roam of many green acres and spent almost every workday with me, whether in the field or in the farm truck making deliveries to town. She climbed every mountain in Acadia National Park with me, and in 2023 she won a gold medal when we ran a Halloween 5k together - not for speed (we finished second to last), but for best costume (she was dressed like a hot dog).

We spent ten beautiful years together. When we’d ride in the car, she’d rest her paw in my hand from the passenger seat. Presley was silly, mischievous, stubborn, affectionate, curious, and loving. In the last month of her life, she didn’t always have the energy to go for her walk around the neighborhood, so we got a wagon and took her for wagon rides so she could still sniff the fresh air in all her favorite places. She would get bursts of energy, hop out of the wagon to walk on her own, and then be glad to rest in the wagon again when she got tired. She spent her last month at the park, at the beach, on quiet evening walks, at home in bed with me, and surrounded by everyone who loved her.

Her life was a legacy of joy. As we always said: “Good job, Fatty.” I will miss her every day for as long as I live.