Trust the yes.

In which Jill bets everything on a longshot.

In rescue, hope is a muscle we flex every day, even when it feels like we’re just going through the motions. Our friends already have dogs, so we rely on word of mouth and the occasional miracle. That’s why, when a quiet stranger walked in off the street and offered a home to Shury—one of our long-timers—it felt like the universe was finally listening.

Shury waits for a miracle.

Shury, two years old and already a shelter veteran, had spent half her life waiting behind bars. She was a gorgeous brindle, labeled a German Shepherd mix (though later we’d realize she’s a purebred Lurcher—yes, that’s a thing).

But in the shelter, labels don’t matter much. What matters is connection, and lately, Shury was fading into the background. Once a “playgroup rockstar,” she was now showing signs of stress—correcting other dogs, barking in her kennel. Volunteers were quietly panicking that she’d be “alerted”—shelter code for the euthanasia list. We knew we needed to get Shury out to another adoption event.

Adoption events take a lot of effort, but they’re worth it. We’ve had plenty of success stories, and even when a dog doesn’t find a home that day, at least they get a break from the shelter—a chance to sniff new smells, meet new people, meet other dogs, and just be a dog for a while.

We brought Shury out, hoping for a spark.

Shury at the adoption event.

I posted about her again, hoping for a miracle. The usual comments came in—prayer hands, good vibes—until a trainer named Steve Barker chimed in. He’d known Shury as a puppy, vouched for her, and offered free training to whoever might adopt her.

The game changes.

Steve showed up at our event, carrying a backpack full of gear and a portable platform. The moment Shury saw him, it was like a switch flipped. She dropped into a perfect “down, stay,” and the two picked up right where they’d left off. Shury loved the attention, working the crowd as Steve put her through her paces. It was a reminder of the dog she could be outside the shelter.

Steve and Shury.

In the background, a woman named Susan was watching. She listened to Shury’s story, nodded, and then said, “I’d like to take her.” We were stunned. Of course, we peppered her with questions—about her home, her dogs, her plans.

Susan patiently answered every single question.

She had a big yard, dog-friendly dogs, and lived on an equestrian property nearby. Steve offered to help with the transition, and we all deliberated, out loud, as rescue people do. What if it didn’t work out? What if Shury came back? But the alternative was sending Shury back to the shelter and waiting for a miracle that might never come.

Shury finds her yes.

Steve, Shury, and Susan.

Within the hour, Susan adopted Shury from the shelter, and Steve followed her home to do a home check and help with dog intros. Two hours later, Steve called: Shury was playing in the yard with her new brothers, the little dog barking orders from the sidelines. “This is the situation I’d dreamed of for her,” Steve said.

Susan’s patience during our questioning spoke volumes about her character. She let us process, never rushing or resenting our caution. That energy, I realized later, was exactly what Shury needed—a calm, steady presence willing to let things unfold. On Easter Sunday, Steve checked in again. Shury was home, happy, and finally where she belonged.

Sometimes, you just have to trust the yes. Shury’s story is proof that hope, patience, and the right person at the right time can change everything.

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Shury, have a great life! (Thank you, Steve, for the video.)