Basha: Hope’s Last Gift of Love

"Every behavior has a story. Sometimes, that story begins long before a dog ever comes home."

Some dogs come into our lives because we choose them. Others become part of our lives because someone we love entrusts them to us.

Basha was entrusted to me. Before she became my dog, she belonged to one of my dearest friends, Hope.

In December of 2021, Hope was murdered by the man she trusted and had shared more than half of her life with. Her loss left an emptiness that words will never fully describe for many of us.

But this story is not about the way Hope died. It is about the way she lived. Hope loved people with her whole heart. She loved her children. She adored her grandchildren. She treasured her friends. She loved animals deeply, and she loved Basha with everything she had.

If there was ever a shortage of love, it wasn't because Hope failed to give it. It was because she deserved so much more than life gave back to her.

Years before Hope's own life was taken, she experienced another unimaginable tragedy. In 2017, her oldest daughter’s life was also cut short by gun violence. Even while carrying that grief every single day, Hope continued showing up for the people she loved. She continued giving. She continued caring. She continued finding reasons to smile. That was simply who she was.

In May, when Hope and her family went on vacation, Basha would stay with us for a week or two. Those weeks became something I looked forward to every year. Not only did I see Hope, I’d get to spend time with her family, and then Basha would come visit with us while they were gone.

From the very first meeting with Basha, there was something about her that captured my heart. She fit into our home as though she had always belonged there. She was gentle, affectionate, remarkably intelligent, and completely content to just soak up as much love as you cared to send her way.

When I’d visit Hope at her house, I'd ask her the same few questions. I’m sure she tired of me doing so but she never showed it. "Why is she crated so much?"

Hope would tell me Basha had accidents in the house. Yet she had never had an accident when she was with us.

Or Hope would tell me Basha counter-surfed, stealing food. But she never did that with us either. At the time, I didn’t question those explanations because I trusted my friend.

We hear it said that hindsight is 20/20 and while I didn’t think too much of the explanations at the time, now it tells me everything. Looking back now, I realize I wasn't seeing two different dogs. I saw one dog living in two different environments.

Today, after years of living with Basha, watching her, learning from her, and understanding the situations that will still trigger her protective instincts, I have come to understand something that forever changed how I view animal behavior.

Everything I have experienced with Basha has convinced me that she wasn't trying to destroy crates because she was disobedient. I fully believe she was trying to make it to Hope when Hope was experiencing some of her worst moments.

Basha is a working dog with strong guardian instincts. Her protective responses are not random. Throughout the years, I have watched her place herself between the women she loves and men she perceives as a threat. I have seen her attempt to protect me, even when she isn't always correct in believing that I am in danger. In Basha's world, she protects against perceived threats. I have seen her attempt to protect my children as well. Those responses are specific, consistent, and firmly ingrained.

Knowing the dog she is today, I have no doubt in my heart that she was trying to reach the person she loved so much. She was trying to protect Hope. She felt Hope needed her and it is likely that Hope did need her during many of those instances where Basha would tear up her crates.

After Hope’s death, I've asked a family member of hers a question that has plagued me ever since. "If Basha had been there... could she have saved Hope?"

Their answer was haunting. "No. He would have likely killed Basha, too."

That answer left me with conflicting emotions. Thankfulness that Basha is safe and happy with me now, but sadness that there may have been even a slight chance that Hope could still be here had Basha been with her at that time. Likely two tragedies would have occurred.

It reminds me of the extraordinary loyalty that has always lived inside this dog. She would have tried. She would have stood between danger and the person she loved, no matter what it cost her. That is who Basha is.

Hope knew how much I loved her. And I knew how much Hope loved me. We both knew traumas from early ages and connected on a truly deep level. Hope knew I wanted Basha. I had begged her to give me Basha on multiple occasions.

For years she would smile and tell me, "If I ever have to rehome Basha, she will come to you."

I loved Basha so much that I even offered Hope money to buy her. She laughed and refused. She wasn't ready to let her go. I totally understand why.

Then, in May of 2021, she called me and with a seriousness that I hadn’t heard in her voice before, she asked, "Do you want Basha?" We had talked about it for so many years that I honestly thought she wasn’t serious. I laughed and thinking she was just kidding me, I said, "If I take her, I'm not giving her back."

Then I asked if she would be willing to sign a contract transferring ownership. She sounded so sad and I could tell this was hard for her, but she said yes.

Hope told me she had asked her boyfriend to leave. She was trying to build a different future for herself and her children.

Neither of us knew how little time she had left. Neither of us realized how quickly December and that horrible day would be upon us.

After Hope's death, I often thought about the incredible trust she had placed in me. She didn't just give me a dog. She gave me part of her heart. People often tell me how lucky Basha is. The truth is, I am the lucky one. When I look at Basha, I don't just see one of my dogs. I see Hope.

I remember her laughter. I remember the way she loved everyone around her, even while carrying immense grief that most of us could never imagine the weight of. I remember her unique way of greeting me. Her house was always alive, loud, and you just felt the life within it.

I remember that promise she made years before she ever knew that would become her final gift to me.

Today, Basha is one of my "OGs"—my Original Gangstas, or my Ol’ Girls. She is going on 12 years old now, like Enola. For the first time in her life, I believe she truly knows peace. She no longer has to stand watch over a home filled with uncertainty, in times when no one was around.

She no longer has to try to fight her way out of a crate because someone she loves may need her. She simply gets to rest. She gets to chase squirrels. She gets to try to pounce on toads at night, or play “Glow Ball”. She gets to carry around her favorite stuffed "babies," something she has loved since we bought her the very first stuffed bear during one of her vacation stays with us in 2019. She finally gets to just be a dog.

Yet I know her heart has never changed.

If someone threatened me or our family, I know exactly where Basha would be. She would stand between us and danger without hesitation. Not because someone taught her to do so. The strength of her love compels her to.

Basha also shaped the way I understand dogs. She taught me that what people often call "bad behavior" may actually be love expressed through fear. Like Enola, she taught me that trauma doesn't disappear simply because a dog has found a different home. She taught me that healing isn't about erasing the past. It's about finally giving a dog enough safety that they no longer have to just survive every day by coping.

That lesson became one of the foundations of ComeBack K9.

When I meet a fearful, reactive, or misunderstood dog, I don't begin by asking, "What's wrong with this dog?" Instead, I ask, "What has this dog lived through?"

Because every behavior has a history. A trigger. A starting point. Every dog has a story. Basha taught me that.

One day, I know I'll have to say goodbye to her. When that day comes, it won't feel like I'm only losing one of the greatest dogs I've ever known. It will feel like losing a part of Hope all over again. I dread that day. It’s hard knowing you are going to experience that kind of loss again, but without the pain of the loss, we would never know the value of the love in the beautiful life it once held.

Until then, every slow walk, every gray whisker, every quiet nap snuggled next to me reminds me that love doesn't end when someone leaves this world.

Sometimes love continues walking beside us. Sometimes it greets us at the door. Sometimes it quietly watches over the family it has chosen to protect. Sometimes, it will manifest itself in the next generation of pups that were taught by the OG’s.

Hope gave me many gifts during our friendship. The greatest one has four paws, gentle eyes, and a heart that has never stopped teaching me what unconditional love truly looks like.

Her name is Basha. And through her, Hope's love continues to walk beside me every single day.