Some dogs arrive in our lives like chapters—each one a story of devotion, laughter, and the quiet companionship that fills the spaces we didn’t know were empty. For us, those chapters were written by two Welsh Terriers, each unique, each unforgettable.
The First Chapter: Woolsey
Many years ago, I spotted my first Welsh Terrier at a flea market. I remember standing there in awe, thinking, “One day, that’s the dog I want.”
Years later, after long workdays and modest dreams, I came home one evening and announced to my partner, “I have puppy money!” That moment set everything in motion.
We found breeder Keith Bailey’s website and wrote to her. Her reply still makes me laugh: “When you can spell Welsh correctly, I’ll get you a dog.” And that’s how our love affair with the breed began—nearly two decades ago.
We wanted a boy, already had a name—Woolsey—but fate had a sense of humor. Keith called to say her latest litter had just arrived, and the firstborn was a girl—“with more boy than girl in her,” she said. She was right. From the moment we saw her, Woolsey owned us.
Raising her was a whirlwind—those 2 a.m. playtimes, the puppy chaos, the tiny heartbeat asleep on our chests. She was clever and stubborn, a born escape artist, always two steps ahead of us. She grew into a bold and beautiful dog who loved water, leaping fearlessly into ponds after sticks, and ruling our long walks through New York City. She was protective, opinionated, and endlessly loyal.
When we moved to the Caribbean, Woolsey came too—15 years old and still curious about every sound and scent. She adored the beach, the salt air, the gentle roll of waves. But her health began to fail. She had been living with Cushing’s disease for several years, and when she crossed the Rainbow Bridge just after her 16th birthday, she took a piece of our hearts with her. Losing her was like losing a bit of sunlight.
The Second Chapter: Image
A year later, the quiet in our home became too loud. I sent a message to Keith, asking if she knew of a Welsh Terrier who might need a new home—perhaps an adult dog ready for a second chance. Within hours, her text came through: “I have a dog for you.”
His name was Image. We spoke for an hour about him—his show days, his pups, his gentle nature. When she asked if I wanted him, my answer came through tears: “Of course I do.”
He was nearly six years old—a distinguished gentleman, full of charm. When he arrived in the Caribbean, we opened his kennel carefully, not sure what to expect. At first, he was cautious. Then something shifted—like a spark catching light. Suddenly he was leaping toward us, tail wagging wildly, showering us with kisses… especially on our ears, his favorite spot. It was love, instant and uncomplicated.
Image came knowing all his show commands, but everyday life was new to him. We had to teach him the little things—how to play freely, how to chase a lizard, how to nap in a patch of sunlight. Welsh Terriers are brilliant thinkers, and Image learned quickly. We’d already learned from Woolsey to stay one step ahead—and that wisdom served us well again.
Though we’ve had him only a short time, Image feels like he’s always been ours. His temperament is gentle and reflective, the mirror opposite of Woolsey’s bold spirit. Having an adult dog has been a gift—easier in many ways, deeper in others. There’s something profound about a dog who comes to you already formed, yet still open to wonder.
Every week brings a small discovery: the thrill of a car ride, the scent of rain, the joy of his paws sinking into warm sand. And yes, he still tries to lick my ear when I drive—his odd little love language that never fails to make me laugh.
The Gift of a Grown Heart
Choosing between a puppy and an adult Welsh Terrier is deeply personal. Puppies bring chaos and delight, but an adult carries quiet grace—a heart already seasoned with love, ready to begin again.
For us, Image has filled the space Woolsey left not by replacing her, but by extending her legacy. He reminds us that love doesn’t end with goodbye—it changes shape and waits for another chance.
He is family. He is home. And yes—he is king of the house.
