04/11/2025
Meet Bubbie! One of our past F1 bernedoodle puppies living his best life out in CA! If youâre wondering what our current litter of F1 Bernedoodles will look like, hereâs your glimpse into the future!
âWhat follows is Bubbieâs storyâwoven inseparably with our own. It is the story of who we were, who we are, and who we continue to become.
Our story began quietly in 2024, when my cousin in Wisconsin introduced me to the world of Bernedoodlesâa breed I had never heard of, living as I do beneath the constant sunlight of Southern California. In the cooler north, however, Bernedoodles were cherished: soulful companions born of the Bernese Mountain Dogâs devotion and the Standard Poodleâs wit. My cousinâs family, navigating allergies, special needs, and the longing to love a dog, found themselves guided by a breeder named Becky Mein, whose compassion and knowledge seemed less like business and more like calling. Through Becky, they found not just one dog, but three, and their joy radiated across the miles between us.
At that time, I still had BeauBeau, my nine-year-old Plott Houndâmy shadow, my confidant, my steady heart. I dreamed of finding him a little brother, but life had other plans. BeauBeau fell ill suddenly and was gone before I could comprehend the loss. The stillness that followed was unlike anything I had known. For the first time in years, my home echoed with absence. Yet, in that ache, a small light flickered. My cousinâs poodle, Joy, was expecting her first Bernedoodle litter, and with gratitude and trembling hope, Becky placed my name on the list for one of her pups.
The months that followed were a tender balance of mourning and anticipation. I promised myself not to let the excitement of new life rush the grieving of an old love. Still, I watched Joyâs pregnancy updates and videos of the newborns with a growing sense of wonder. Thirteen tiny puppiesâeach one impossibly small and perfectâreminded me that love, in its truest form, does not end; it evolves. My mother was the first to notice one particular pup, the âred-collar boy.â There was something about himâa spark, a deviousness, a gentlenessâthat called to us both.
When Becky finally wrote, âAre you ready to find out which puppy is yours?â I could barely breathe. The video opened, and there he was: Bubbie. The same red-collar boy we had quietly adored from afar. In that moment, joy returned in a flood so pure it felt like redemption. Within days, I was on a plane to Chicago, where my family met me with Bubbie cradled in their arms. Seeing him for the first time was like witnessing a promise kept. He was impossibly soft, curious, and trustingâmy angel in a ball of fur.
The journey home to California was a blur of awe. Strangers stopped to admire him; flight attendants cooed over his gentle eyes. I was overwhelmed by how many hearts he could reach without words. And since that day, life has been a joyful, chaotic symphony of discovery.
Bubbie has an old soul hidden in a young body. Around people, he moves with the delicate grace of a fawn finding its footing. He is endlessly gentle with children, tender with elders, and mischievous with his best friend Nala and his playmates at Tom and Dawnâs, where each day is a mixture of joyful chaos and muddy paws. At night, when the world quiets, he curls between my legs, rests his head on my stomach, and waits until I drift to sleep before retreating to his cool tiles or his plush crateâhis own small kingdom of comfort.
In these few short months, Bubbie has taught me what all great loves eventually reveal: that the heart is infinite in its capacity to begin again. Through him, Iâve learned that loss and renewal are not separate paths but threads of the same fabric. Every wag of his tail, every soft sigh beside me, is a reminder that love, when shared, becomes legacy.
Bubbie is not simply my dog; he is the keeper of my past joys, the bridge to my future ones, and the living proof that even after heartbreak, life can find its way back to tenderness.â
