When all our tasks were done, we often walked through the stray kennels, sitting with any dogs who looked like they could use quiet snuggles or treats. This was usually my favorite part of the day, especially after shifts filled with grief, frustration, or sometimes horror. Comforting the dogs brought comfort to us, too.

From the moment I started the job, I was determined to convince my dad to adopt a dog. He had been without one for a while after his last, Ralphie — a miniature dachshund — had to be put down due to deteriorating back problems.

Ralphie was probably the last kind of dog you’d expect my dad to own. My dad wasn’t a tall man, but he was strong, with broad shoulders and big arms. He carried himself with confidence and could strike up a conversation with just about anyone.

He was kind, thoughtful, and protective — but definitely not someone you’d want to cross or cut off in traffic. So just picture this big, tough guy walking around the neighborhood with a tiny wiener dog.

At home, Ralphie would crawl under my dad’s shirt and snuggle until bedtime. It was affectionately pathetic. I knew how much my dad missed having a dog, and I was determined to find him one that didn’t have itty-bitty legs.

As a kid, I grew up with Barney, a Labrador/Golden Retriever mix who looked like an oversized yellow Lab. Barney was the most laid-back, friendly dog you could imagine. He went everywhere with me and was my companion from age two until he passed away when I was 16. That’s the kind of dog I had in mind for my dad—one I knew would take the least amount of convincing.

One night, as I quietly walked through the stray kennels, I came across a sweet female yellow Lab sitting silently in the back of her kennel. Her eyes were soft but sad. I opened the door and sat inside; she crawled over and laid her head in my lap.

Surely, I thought, someone was coming for her. She seemed like someone’s beloved pet. But when I checked her kennel card, I discovered she had been left in an overnight drop-box a couple of days earlier. No paperwork. No background. No one had come forward.

That day, she came home with my dad and was named Wrigley.

From then on, every morning, Wrigley hopped into the truck with my dad and rode to work with him. She had her own setup at his office at the train ramp, and everyone came to know and love her. She was gentle, smart, athletic, and calm. She loved to swim, play fetch — basically all the things labs love.

In the evenings, my dad would often bring her to the local nursing home to visit my grandma. The residents adored her. She brought joy everywhere she went.

In 2020, my dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Still, Wrigley remained by his side. By now well into her teens, she could no longer jump into the truck and sometimes struggled even to climb the steps. But she never gave up. She was always lying next to him.

This next part I won’t get through without tears, but it captures the kind of bond between a human and a dog that words can’t quite describe.

I was sitting on the couch facing him when Wrigley suddenly stood up and gently placed her head in his lap. We all went silent. She stood like that for several minutes. I believe, with everything in me, that she was speaking to him — telling him in her own way that it was okay to go.

Then, Wrigley began to whimper. She ran over to me, trembling from head to toe like I had never seen before. I held her and cried with her. Moments later, my dad took his final breaths.

I’m convinced Wrigley saw his soul leave his body — and she grieved with us.

My dad loved his Wrigley girl. He knew how much she loved him, too. Before he passed, he made one final request: that Wrigley be humanely euthanized when the time came and that her ashes be placed at his side.

Together, we took her to the vet, and as she passed, I whispered: “Now, go get Dad. Tell him I love him.”

Just as my dad requested, Wrigley’s ashes were placed in his casket — right by his side, along with Barney and Ralphie.

We’ll never know where Wrigley came from or what circumstances brought her to the Nebraska Humane Society. But I will forever be grateful to them. They truly make miracles happen every day — not just for the animals, but for the people who love them.”

– Jordan

(150/150)

This curly, silver black fluff ball has personality plus he loves people, and thinks that every visitor is there for him.

We quickly learned he adores chasing and popping bubbles. He showed an interest in the treadmill, so we taught him how to walk on it. Now, he thinks it’s his treadmill.

He adores walking next to us on the treadmill and jumping on and off. He never met a vacuum cleaner he didn’t follow! He seems to watch TV and reacts to every single animal he sees. He adapted well to the leash and likes to stay on his daily walk through the neighborhood. He’s not fond of a change in routine and as a ‘weather dog,’ he sincerely hates thunderstorms. He can be a stubborn bugger… But we love him to pieces.”

-Julie

(149/150)

I’ve worked at shelters across the U.S. and Canada, from small rural rescues to large municipal shelters. But this one… this one was different. From the very beginning, there was something in the air. A warmth in how the staff and volunteers welcomed me. A quiet, unwavering sense of purpose in how everyone showed up for the animals and for each other every single day. I didn’t just feel like a guest passing through. I felt like I had found a place where I could plant roots. A place that felt like home.

I’ve had the privilege of working alongside some of the most compassionate, creative, and committed people I’ve ever met. We’ve laughed. We’ve cried. We’ve pulled off the impossible more times than I can count. We’ve challenged ourselves to grow, embraced big changes, and found strength in the hard conversations. We’ve raised the bar—not just for ourselves, but for the animals and community we serve.

When our shelter faced a medical outbreak, it could’ve broken us. But instead, it brought us even closer together. We became one team, stronger and more united than ever. Staff and volunteers alike jumped in to help—showing up early, staying late, loading transport vans in the dark, meeting with community partners, and brainstorming late into the night. No one hesitated. Everyone just showed up. For each other. For the animals. For the mission.

Since July 2023, we’ve launched innovative programs, strengthened return-to-home efforts, and expanded how we support our community. Our foster and volunteer programs are thriving. Our behavior and medical teams work what often feel like miracles. Every department, every person, has played a role in building the momentum we’re seeing today.

One of the most personal reminders of what we’re capable of is curled up beside me right now: a sweet, scrappy little pug I fostered and couldn’t let go of. When he came to us, he’d likely been hit by a car. He had multiple fractures, a shattered leg that had to be amputated, and a jaw that had to be wired shut. Thanks to the incredible care of our veterinary team, he recovered fully and today, he’s thriving as part of my family. Every time I look at him, I see the heart of NHS in action.

But what truly makes this place extraordinary isn’t just the work we do, it’s the people who make it possible. The staff who come in early and stay late, even after a full day of physically and emotionally demanding work. The ones who offer a kind word or a gentle hug to a community member who just needs to be seen. The coworkers who listen, really listen, even when our ideas are a little wild, because they believe in pushing boundaries and doing whatever it takes to save lives.

This work is hard. It’s emotional. It’s often heavy. But we carry each other through it. We celebrate the wins, big and small, and we remind one another that every single life matters. That every saved animal is a victory. That together, we are stronger. This is more than a job. It’s a calling. And these aren’t just colleagues and volunteers— they’re friends, teammates, and chosen family.

The Nebraska Humane Society is a beacon of hope for pets, for families, and for anyone who believes in the power of second chances. I’m proud to be part of its story, and even prouder to help write the next chapter. Here’s to 150 years of hope. Here’s to every life we’ve saved and all the ones still waiting for us.”

-Jakie, NHS VP of Shelter Operations and Strategy

(148/150)

I lost my heart dog, Jeri, six years ago. I met her at NHS when she was just a pup and I was 19. She was everything—my constant, my best friend. When she got sick with heart failure, I held on too long. I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t picture life without her. We had 14 years, and it still didn’t feel like enough. I have regrets—things I wish I’d done differently, especially near the end—but you don’t get a do-over. You just carry it.

A few months after she was gone, I started volunteering at the shelter. First laundry. Then walking dogs and fostering (I kept the boy). Now I make enrichment. All of it started because of her. My heart didn’t heal all at once—it healed by showing up for animals who needed someone to care.

I know it probably seems like the shelter is always asking—adopt more, donate more, help more. The truth is, everyone is drowning. There are too many animals and not enough space, time, or people. I don’t have some big solution. But I do know this: if you’ve lost a pet and you’re scared to open your heart again, maybe think about it anyway. Not because it’ll be the same (it won’t)—but because there might be a new kind of love waiting for you. One that doesn’t replace what you lost, but honors it.

I still miss Jeri. Constantly. But I love my next dog, Conner, with my whole being, too. My heart has just expanded to hold the loss with the love. Giving him a good life feels like the best way to say thank you to her. And I think she’d be really proud of me.”

-Michaela

(147/150)

And then I saw her. A scruffy Siberian Husky with one blue eye and one brown —locked right on mine. She looked desperate for someone to understand her. Her name was Princess. She was about nine years old and had already been through the shelter three times. Scrawled across her medical paperwork were the letters “PTS.” I asked what it meant. “Put to sleep.” My heart dropped. That couldn’t be her ending.

I learned that she had been vomiting and having seizures and for medical reasons, she could not be adopted. I told the staff I would adopt her and take on whatever was in store medically, they agreed. Then I drove home, anxious about convincing my husband to agree. Thankfully, he did—and just like that, Princess became Taysia Blue.

Her adjustment wasn’t easy. We had fights between her and our youngest husky. We had medical challenges too — she was diagnosed with megaesophagus and needed to be fed upright to keep her food down. It was messy, hard, and worth it.

Taysia Blue was funny, bossy, and unforgettable. Every day she reminded me how many animals like her don’t get the chance she did. And that thought became a spark. In 2010, I started a rescue in her honor — Taysia Blue Siberian Husky Rescue.

None of it would have happened without the Nebraska Humane Society. It was NHS that introduced me to Taysia Blue. It was NHS that showed me the heartbreak—and the hope—inside an animal shelter. That one moment changed my life and helped me find my purpose. My experience at NHS and with Taysia Blue inspired me to leave a corporate career and dedicate myself fully to animal welfare. Today, I’m proud to serve as CEO of the Santa Fe Animal Shelter & Humane Society — still reaching out for inspiration and connection from the place where it all began. Taysia passed away in 2014, just shy of 15. But her legacy lives on in every life saved, now over 2600 and counting. And it all started with a volunteer shift at NHS.

Thank you for 150 years of creating moments like that—for me, and for so many others.”

-Jackie

(146/150)

If it wasn’t for me visually seeing her and her emotions that reflected me internally, I wouldn’t have been brave enough to leave. I owe everything to Sadie for pulling me out of such a nasty relationship.

Her and I are thriving now! Sadie is 3 years old, loves toys, everyone who comes over, and digging holes in the backyard. Zoomies, laughs, and endless love is part of our daily routine!

Thank you, NHS, for giving me the opportunity to adopt a dog that showed me what real love looks like. I am forever grateful for the adoption team and, of course, Sadie!”

-Monica

(145/150)

He was a bit of a jerk to nearly everyone he met. Another staff member and I had bonded with him while he recovered from his dental surgery and ended up adoring him. We would take him to the break room for lunch, where he would sit on the arm of the couch and beg for food, and let him hang out with us in the medical department during down time.

I remember one of the behavior staff warning me not to take his collar off, because they had a heck of a time getting it on him. I remember saying, “Like this?” as I proceeding to remove and reattach his collar. I had seriously considered adopting him, worried that he’d struggle to find a home with his grouchy attitude. I even took him home to see how he’d do around my cats (he was wonderful with them).

While I was going back and forth trying to decide if I should adopt Emmett, an elderly man came in looking for a small dog to adopt that would just sit and watch TV with him. I knew just the dog, Mr. Grouch himself, Emmett.

The man ended up adopting Emmet, and just as I had imagined, they spent their days watching daytime TV and taking naps together on the couch. I am so glad I waited to adopt Emmett, because he ended up finding the best possible home.”

-Whitney, the Director of Animal Welfare at NHS

(144/150)

We had been eyeing this beautiful girl for some time (no pun intended.) We had said that once our senior cat crossed the Rainbow Bridge, we would consider a dog this time. We wanted to also give a hard to place animal a “forever home,” and the best life it deserves.

That’s when we saw “Connecticut” on the NHS website sporting an awesome smile and a permanent wink! We reached out to NHS and found out she was listed as a ‘Diamond Dog.’ That didn’t stop our pursuit.

We made our appointment and went to meet her. She came in the visitation room and walked right past me and climbed onto my wife’s lap to put her paws around her shoulders… That was good enough for us. We said “let’s do this!”

It took her over a year for her to come out of her shell and show her true colors.

They were the most beautiful colors.

Since having her, she has been to Canada, gone Kayaking, hiking, boating on the lake… (she LOVES the splashing of waves!), sleeps in bed with us and goes absolutely everywhere with us in the truck where she gets to hang out the window regardless of the temperature!

She is everything to us and it is easy to say… she has given us more in smiles, laughter, and love than we could ever give her back. She has taught us patience, compassion, and what unconditional love looks like. Be kind, they give us so much and you’re their everything!”

-Justin and Sandra

(143/150)

Teddy, the brave and curious one, climbed right up onto my husband’s shoulder the moment we walked in. Graham was more nervous, hanging back quietly. But we could already see how much he relied on Teddy—and how much she loved him right back. They were a bonded pair, and there was no way we could separate them. Honestly, we didn’t want to.

Now, months later, Teddy still leads the way with confidence and charm, and Graham has gone from timid to totally attached—he’s my Velcro cuddle buddy who never leaves my side. We thought we were opening our home to one cat—but it turns out, our hearts had room for two. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

-Liberty

(142/150)

Don’t worry – all that time trying to find a rescue didn’t go to waste as two other wolf hybrids came in the same year.

Since her adoption, she has gotten her Canine Good Citizen (through NHS) and goes to Bark in the Parks and other dog-friendly events.

I do advocate on how wolf hybrids are not for everyone. They are extremely smart. She knows how to open doors – not just lever type handles but actually knobs. She can also open windows and refrigerators. Other things about hybrids are that they are illegal to own in both Omaha and Lincoln. But where I live she has plenty of open space to run and be a wolf!”

• Liz

(141/150)