(Content Note: grief and pet loss, chronic illness, car accident mention, disability discussion)

Welcome back to the Cryptid’s Den.
Come in.
You can set things down here.

This is The Crippled Cryptid.
A quiet corner of the internet where disabled lives are allowed to be complicated, unpretty, and still wildly and deeply loved.

I’m Sky.
Professional cryptid. Accidental cyborg.
Occasional and amateur chronic illness and disability advocate.
Chronically ill 24/7, 365, learning every day what it means to build a life that bends instead of breaks.

And today, this space belongs to Luna.

Luna, our moon dog.
My medical alert partner.
Mama #2’s sweater model, bandana collector, and professional treat negotiator.
BJ’s favorite chaos gremlin and the only creature alive who can convince the Yard Yeti to throw a ball until his arm falls off.

She wasn’t supposed to be a service dog.
She was supposed to be a companion.

Instead, she became part guardian, part shadow, part “hey, you don’t get to ignore that.” Followed up by the much louder, much more stern, “Mumther, who told you that you were allowed to ignore me?”

And honestly? When you’re the kind of cryptid who is constantly ready to fight God and way too good at ignoring your body’s red flags, you need a spirit guide with attitude.

M&M is still my constant. My best friend. My partner.
Luna’s Mama #2.
Belly rub-giver. Snack distributor. The one who somehow always picks the exact sweater that makes Luna look like she walked out of a storybook.

BJ is still her loudest audience.
The one she barks at like it’s a full-time job.
Her favorite playmate. The keeper of the longest throws.

And me?

I’m still here in this complicated body, learning how to live inside it with a dog who refuses to let me disappear into the hard days.

This space exists for survival.
For found family.
For dogs who change entire timelines without asking permission.

If you’ve been here before, I’m glad you came back.
If this is your first time, you’re welcome here.

The Lunatic Café is open.

On today’s menu: 2-Year Adoptiversaries.
Two years of Luna.
Two years of growth.
Two years of freedom we didn’t know was waiting for us.

May 11th will always feel a little bit like fate wrapped in fur.

If you didn’t know this, we had been looking at dogs for a while in 2023 after my grandma passed away. We took Bear to the farmer’s market and he loved spending time with the rescue puppies. They brought out something soft and joyful in him. We almost adopted one too, and then he was adopted right out from under our noses.

It broke our hearts.

And when we thought about trying again… life slammed the brakes.

We were in a huge car accident that derailed everything. Someone t-boned us in Chicago and threw our world sideways. It’s something we still haven’t fully unpacked or fully healed from.

But maybe one day we will.

Then we got a new car.

And somehow… I started looking again.

Two years ago, we drove down to Chicago with Bear, M&M, and the Yard Yeti to meet a dog who was only supposed to be a companion.

The first thing I noticed were her eyes. Two different colors. Land and sky. Watching everything at once. Curious. Gentle. And far too skinny for my liking.

The person giving her away said she had too much energy for apartment life. Later, we learned that wasn’t really the full story. They had planned to breed her once she reached a “healthy” weight, assuming we’d return her so she could become a puppy mill dog. Obviously, that didn’t happen.

Luna will never have puppies.

And it isn’t because she’s not purebred or because I think she’ll be a bad mom. Neither of those two things are true. That just isn’t the life we want for her. She came to us and claimed her own story, and every day since has been about thriving on her own terms.

Because the moment she met us, everything shifted.

She loved Bear instantly. He loved her right back. If you ever saw them together, you’d understand why I say they were thick as thieves from the start.

There wasn’t a long waiting period or a dramatic decision.

She came home with us that very first day, like she had already decided where she belonged. And she was right. She did belong.

On the highway, Luna decided she didn’t like sitting alone in the back of the Jeep. BJ was in the backseat with Bear, and Luna was in the trunk area. She climbed over the seat and joined the party like she had every right to be there.

All of us laughed.

And here’s the part that still makes me shake my head.

Luna was never meant to be a service dog.
She was meant to be a friend. A companion for Bear. A new heartbeat in the house.

At the time, I was still on waiting lists with organizations that match you with a dog when they think the timing is right. Months passed. I never heard back.

I didn’t know then that the dog I had been waiting for was already curled up at my feet.

And for anyone wondering, no. I still haven’t heard back from those programs. It’s been close to three years now.

Velcro dog, morning smiles, and bed boss:

Somewhere along the way, Luna didn’t just become my partner- she became my morning alarm, my nighttime guardian, and my personal chaos agent.

Every morning, the second she notices we’re awake, she greets us with a massive doggy smile, tail wagging like a tiny metronome, army crawling across the bed to lick our faces and snuggle up.

She sleeps in bed with us- not because we insist, but because she insists. She starts the night on her own dog bed sometimes, sure, but by the end? She’s in the humans’ bed, perfectly positioned to wake me from nightmares or night terrors, or to offer deep pressure therapy for my CRPS legs. It’s not just affection. It’s protection. It’s grounding. It’s love that’s practical, wild, and perfectly Luna.

The moment everything changed happened quietly.

I was doing dishes alone in the kitchen when she started acting strangely. Restless. Insistent. I thought she was just being dramatic until the migraine hit later, hard and fast.

When it happened again, the realization settled in.

She wasn’t being chaotic.

She was alerting.

She chose the job before we ever asked her to.

From that point on, training at home became part of our rhythm. Some things she understood immediately, like deep pressure therapy. Before we even knew how to teach it properly, she was already trying to do it on her own.

Other things were harder.

Teaching her how to heel tested both of our patience more than anything else.

But how could I blame her? Her first humans admitted they didn’t walk her. That she “didn’t like leashes.” In reality, they had gotten a blue heeler because of a children’s cartoon, not because they understood the breed’s needs for stimulation and structure.

Because if anyone knows anything about our girl, it’s this:

She loves walks. Especially sniffaris.

She’s also off-leash trained.

While most pet dogs need to be on a leash in the USA, where we currently live, service dogs are allowed to be off-leash if that’s what they need to do their tasks properly. Luna is one of those dogs because if I’m holding her leash and I pass out and have a seizure, it could mean that both of us are getting hurt. Especially if I’m using my walker or wheelchair.

Does that mean that she’s always off-leash? No.

But it means that she knows how to be, and it means that she knows how to be and keep her composure, as well as remember her manners while doing so.

She also had to learn how to eat for herself. She’d been fed from a communal bowl, waiting until Bear was done before daring to take her share. No dog should ever have to do that. Now? Her bowls are hers and hers alone. No sharing. Ever.

She’s picky, though in the most Luna way- salmon food is her favorite, closely followed by lamb. When she approves, it’s with full commitment.

Luna has always been a Velcro dog.
Wherever I go, she follows. Watching. Learning. Growing into herself and into me.

Somewhere along the way, companion turned into partner.

And she did it like she was born knowing this was her purpose.

There’s a chapter of this story that belongs to Bear too.

Even though he isn’t here anymore, there will always be pieces of Luna’s story that carry his pawprints.

He taught her how to be a dog.
How to love me.
How to love all of us equally, wildly, and without hesitation.

He was older, calmer, completely unfazed by her whirlwind energy. She softened around him. Learned from him. Slept beside him. Followed his lead in ways only dogs understand.

When we lost Bear in October of 2025, it felt like a piece of the house went quiet.

But Luna carries forward so much of the love he gave her.

Sometimes I still see echoes of him in the way she settles beside me or the way she watches over the room.

She was supposed to be his companion.

Instead, she became part of his legacy.

She still won’t sleep in his corner bed. She’s done it less than a handful of times since he crossed the Rainbow Bridge. Grief doesn’t belong only to humans, and I think she feels his absence just as deeply as we do.

What Luna has given me over the last two years is something I don’t think I’ll ever fully have words for.

Freedom is the closest one.

Not perfect freedom. Not the kind that erases disability or hard days. But the kind that lets you breathe a little deeper when you leave the house. The kind that makes the world feel less sharp around the edges.

She has given me:

Two years of confidence I didn’t know I could have again.
Two years of knowing someone is always watching out for me.
Two years of growth that still surprises me.

And she hasn’t just changed my life.

She’s opened something up in M&M and the Yard Yeti too. The house feels lighter with her here. More laughter. More routine. More shared moments built around her goofy personality and her serious work face.

Mama #2 with her sweaters and bandanas.
BJ throwing tennis balls like it’s an Olympic sport while she barks her opinions at full volume.

She became the center of gravity for all of us without ever trying.

The funny part?

She came to us already named Luna.

Moon.

And I’m Sky.

Somewhere along the way, without planning it, we became sky and moon together. Orbiting each other in ways that feel almost too poetic to be accidental.

Sometimes I think she was out there waiting for us just as much as we were waiting for her.

This adoptiversary isn’t just about marking time.

It’s about celebrating everything she’s grown into and everything we’ve become together. The hours of training people never see. The quiet alerts. The victories that felt small in the moment but changed everything in the long run.

She is still a dog first.
Still silly. Still stubborn. Still learning.

But she is also my partner, my safety net, and one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever been given.

Two years ago, we drove to Chicago to meet a skinny dog with mismatched eyes.

We came home with the moon.

If today was heavy, you didn’t carry it alone.
If today was gentle, I hope it stayed that way.
If you’re here, you belong here.

Two years of Luna. And we can’t wait to celebrate her third birthday in October. Another year to celebrate her growth, her quirks, and the joy she brings into our lives every single day. And for those of you out there who have asked, yes she does have her very own Amazon Wishlist just in case anyone would like to spoil her with a little something. There’s never any pressure but, we have been asked before.

Love you. Now say it back.

-Sky
© The Crippled Cryptid
Disability, honesty, and a little chaos.

🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa

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