She was just one among ninety souls, taken from the shadows of a backyard breeder. When Alyssa first saw Sequoya—skin clinging to bone, eyes hollow with fear—something stirred deep in her heart. This wasn’t just a rescue. It was something more.
When the coordinator drove her to Alyssa and her fiancé Pack’s home, Sequoya sat frozen in the car, unsure how to step into a new life. She had no idea how to get out. No idea how to trust. So they waited patiently, hearts open, hands ready to help.
She didn’t know how to climb stairs. But Pack and Alyssa became her guides. “It’s okay, Sequoya… I’ll carry you until you’re ready,” Pack would gently guide her, lifting her upstairs each day while Alyssa watched with a soft smile. Together, they taught her each step—literally.
She didn’t recognize toys. She was scared of the TV and would tuck herself away in quiet corners. She chose the cold floor over the softness of a dog bed.
But oh, how gently they praised her, “Good girl, Sequoya,” as she braved her first bath, unsure but trusting. They washed away her past in warm bathwater and soaked her in praise.
And something began to change.
She picked up a rat toy one day and tried to play. She joined Pack in a playful game of basketball, clumsy and curious. She began snoring deeply, safely—her sleep no longer haunted.
By the third month, her true spirit began to shine. Sequoya became a 75-pound lap dog—cuddling close, resting her head and arm on Alyssa’s chest like a child seeking comfort. She started looking into their eyes on walks, as if saying, “I know you saved me.”
They took Sequoya to the beach in Santa Barbara, where she ran through the waves, free and full of joy. Many girls stopped to admire Sequoya and patted her soft face, and she welcomed them with grace. She even now lets children gently stroke her face.
Sequoya adored Pack too—melting under his kisses, always waiting on her favorite perch on the couch when they left, tail wagging the moment they returned.
What no one could see was Alyssa’s grief—a soul still mourning the loss of her first dog, the one who’d carried her through early adulthood. She hadn’t known if she was ready to open her heart again. But Sequoya… Sequoya was sent to her. Almost a year to the day after her loss, she arrived—a sign, a second heartbeat.
Looking at her now, you’d never know what she endured. But Alyssa and Pack know.
She was rescued—but she rescued, too.
