The Loan
4/10/2025
In loving memory of Bodam —
Our light, our strength, our joy.
I remember my mother once saying, “We are
only loaned to each other.” Someone had said
it to her, and she passed it on to me. I didn’t
understand it then, but today—I understand
it far too well.
Today was one of the worst days of my life.
But it’s not the first. Today, I lost my precious
Bodam—a strong, wise, funny, beautiful, regal
South Korean Jindo mix. She was a princess
who relished being spoiled and embraced the
best life had to offer. And she loved life more
than most humans I’ve ever known.
I first saw Bodam on Instagram. Her rescuers
were looking for someone in the United States
to foster her. I had recently lost my other
Jindo mix, and when I saw Bodam’s exquisite
face and soulful eyes, I fell in love… again.
Her history was horrifying. She was a dog
meat trade survivor—likely born into it, used
as a breeding dog. When she was no longer
“useful,” she was hung from a tree and
blowtorched for her meat. Two men were in
the process of killing her when rescuers
intervened. By God’s grace, she survived.
But it wasn’t her tragic past that made me fall
for her—it was her eyes. There was something
in her gaze. An uncertainty about
everything—life, her future, who would love
her, and who would stay. What I knew, with full
conviction, was that I wanted to be that
person. I wanted to replace her fears with
love, care, and joy—if she would let me.
They told me her name was Lady, but she
never responded to it. I remembered someone
from the rescue in South Korea saying they
would miss her—and calling her “Bodam.” I
reached out to ask if that was truly her name.
They replied, “Yes, her name is Bodam, but we
always called her Bodam-ah!” which loosely
means, “Hey Bodam!”
When I found that out, I walked into the living
room and asked, “Is your name really Bodam-
ah?” Her eyes brightened. She wagged her tail
just a little—hesitantly. I knelt beside her and
said, “Bodam-ah!” And she smiled… in that
unmistakable doggy way.
In that instant, something changed. A light
switched on. Every door in her heart swung
open—and she became mine. My girl. My
daughter. Not just my dog.
From that day forward, she was the boss.
Before that moment, when we’d go for walks,
she’d step outside and do what I called her i-
pirouette—a quick turn to make sure I was still
with her. Within a week of becoming mine, she
stopped. She knew Momme was always there.
(By the way—Mom + Me = Momme.)
Soon after, I told her a brother was coming—a
rescue from China. His name is Brownie. She
waited for him patiently. When he arrived,
they bonded instantly—as if they had known
each other their entire lives. They would trot
down the street, bumping hips like siblings
teasing each other.
She taught him the ropes. But that was
easy—Bodam had created everything that
made our home whole. She showed him how
to feel safe, how to find joy, and how to trust
again. It was Bodam who made him unafraid
of New York City—the sounds, the hustle, the
chaos. She didn’t just walk through the world
bravely—she led the way.
She gave me courage too. When I was afraid,
she was brave for me. Her calm grounded us.
Her strength became our strength.
It was beautiful to witness: two dogs from
different countries, both scarred by the same
evil, now living full of love and joy. It didn’t
matter whether we had steak or dog
food—Bodam showed Brownie how to savor
life. How to play. How to simply be.
That brings me to the title of this essay—The
Loan.
Bodam was my seventh dog as an adult. My
dog—not a family pet. And for the first time, I
understood what it meant when my mother
said we are only loaned to each other. We
share our lives for a time only God knows. And
during that time, we must pay attention—to
what is alive and breathing and loving us in
return.
We can’t let worries, distractions, or screens
take us away from the moments that matter.
Especially with animals—who never sweat the
small stuff.
Here in New York City, I see people constantly
on their phones. They don’t look where they’re
going, don’t notice who they bump into. And
the worst part? They’re glued to their screens
while walking their dogs. Why? Why are they
ignoring them?
You only have that pet for a short time.
If I could take all the hours people waste
ignoring their animals and add them to
Bodam’s life—I would, in a heartbeat. But
people treat themselves as sacred and
everything else as secondary. How tragic.
They don’t understand the loan. They don’t
see the heavy payment waiting at the end of
it.
They abuse the gift of unconditional
love—something no human will ever give
them. And in doing so, they miss one of the
greatest blessings God offers.
Yes, I work a lot. But if I hear a sigh or a
cough, I drop everything and run into the
room to check on my pups. There is
nothing—nothing—in this world more
valuable to me than them.
And maybe that’s why the heartbreak cuts so
deep.
People say they live on in your heart, but
that’s not quite true. I believe they take a
piece of your heart with them when they go.
And one day, after I’ve loved enough dogs,
the last one will take the final piece… and it
will be my time to join them in Heaven.
Like I told Bodam today: “Don’t worry,
sweetheart. Brownie and Momme will be there
in the blink of an eye.”
That’s how fast life goes.
James 4:14 says it best: “…yet you do not know
what tomorrow will bring. What is your life?
For you are a mist that appears for a little
time and then vanishes.”
Life is precious—especially the lives of
animals.
I will never forget what Bodam gave to me. For
three years, I was blessed to have her in my
life. I didn’t ignore her. I cherished her. And in
death, she lives on in my heart—and I in
hers—until the day she, Brownie, and I, along
with all my pups and every animal I’ve ever
cared for, are reunited with Jesus in Heaven.
Her calm grounded us.
She was my angel.
“Do not neglect to show hospitality to
strangers, for thereby some have entertained
angels unawares.” — Hebrews 13:2
With Gratitude and Love,
Momme & Brownie
XOXO
