08/07/2026
The House That Waited For Us
If you’re reading this from Cañon City, Colorado, I’m right down the street. Today.
If you’re reading from North Carolina, I’m nowhere near you.
I’m in Colorado, packing boxes, wondering where I left the packing tape, closing one chapter of our lives, and getting ready to bring Lynn, Jasmine, Sadie, and Brady back to North Carolina with me.
This isn’t a vacation. Anyone who has ever packed a house, sold a house, bought another house, and tried to move across the country knows there is absolutely nothing vacation-like about it.
As I’ve written several times, Lynn and our four-legged family have remained in Colorado while I spent the past three-plus months touring the finest Airbnbs Hickory and Newton had to offer.
I have moved five times. Five. In three and a half months.
Plus, carrying our Colorado mortgage while paying for Airbnbs in North Carolina for more than three months was no joke.
When I began at the shelter, I was so consumed by the job that I barely had time to breathe, never mind find a new home. I kept telling myself I would start looking after the first month.
Then the first month became the second. The second became the third.
Meanwhile, Lynn remained in Colorado, understandably wondering whether her husband had moved across the country and forgotten to send for the rest of the family.
Nope. I was simply looking for the right home once I had time. And by “right,” I mean a home that would work for us, our budget, and especially Jasmine.
As many of you know, Jasmine is our blind senior Basset Hound from my last shelter.
So I searched. And searched. And drove. Goodness, did I drive.
One Saturday, Lynn sent me a list of homes long enough to qualify as a regional delivery route. I spent a crazy 3 ½ hours traveling through every neighborhood in a 20-mile radius of the shelter.
I became very skilled at the “drive-by.”
I’d park outside a house, FaceTime Lynn, walk around with my phone, and provide a live tour.
“This is the front of the house. This is the street. That appears to be a neighbor staring at me suspiciously.”
Another house Lynn really liked was $45,000 beyond what we wanted to spend. She, of course, asked me to drive by anyway. Naturally, I planned to report that the neighborhood was terrible.
“Lynn, you wouldn’t believe it. Abandoned vehicles. Wild animals. Possibly pirates.”
That plan fell apart when the owner walked outside to get his mail while I was standing in the street talking to Lynn. He invited me inside. Who invites strangers into their home? That guy.
An hour later, I had met his wife, toured every corner of the house, played with their two dogs, and learned that the house was perfect.
It was perfect for Lynn, perfect for Jasmine, and, annoyingly, perfect for me too.
Except for that tiny, inconvenient $45,000 problem.
A funny thing happened after that. The owner became the guy who now cuts my hair. You stop outside a stranger’s home and somehow leave with new friends and a haircut.
For more than three months, homes moved on and off our Zillow favorites list.
Some sold immediately. Some looked great online and way different in person. Some had too many steps off the deck. Some had no yard. Some had no room for my lifting equipment.
And one little for-sale-by-owner home in Newton remained on the list. So we did a drive-by.
Lynn contacted the owner after that drive-by, but the owner was out of town. So it remained on my ‘favorites’ list, quietly staring back at me while nearly every other favorite sold.
Meanwhile, we had accepted that finding the right home might take much longer than expected.
We also worried that our Colorado house might not sell without us taking a painful financial hit.
At that point, we decided we couldn’t remain separated much longer. Well, no. Lynn decided that.
I simply listened carefully to both her words and the tone in which she delivered them.
A week later, my very sweet 4th Airbnb host connected me with her friend, who had a furnished home we could rent for three months, then continue month-to-month.
A three-month lease instead of the twelve-month leases everyone else wanted? I’ll take it. So I called Lynn. She started preparing immediately.
Then life changed the plan. It always does.
Our Colorado realtor called. We had two showings that weekend. Maybe three.
I may or may not have turned on our Furbo dog camera while sitting in a Lowe’s Foods parking lot so I could hear what the potential buyers were saying.
Okay. I did.
And then I heard someone say: "I love this house. I couldn’t love it more."
I texted Lynn what I had just heard.
Lynn went out of her ever-loving emoji texting mind!
Follow me here.
Late Friday, July 10, we accepted an offer on the Colorado home.
On Saturday, July 11, Lynn called the owner of that little Newton house that had been sitting in our favorites for months.
And on Sunday, July 12, I walked inside that house with Lynn on FaceTime.
One step through the front door, and the house reminded me of the charming bed-and-breakfast in Maine where I asked Lynn to marry me over twenty-five years ago.
Built in 1951. Warm. Full of character. Beautifully furnished. Completely renovated.
It was adorable. I liked it… A lot. Lynn loved it… A lot.
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t secretly thinking, "Now where could I put my squat rack?"
Then I imagined Lynn saying, "Sure, a squat rack will look great in a small house built in 1951."
So I never asked… Husband 101.
Instead, I started thinking things like, my mom’s mirror would look cute over there. My dad’s old dresser would be perfect here. My aunt’s pictures would be perfect on that wall.
Somewhere in that shift, I stopped thinking about gym equipment and thought: "Damn. This might be the one."
At one point during that visit, Lynn announced loudly through the phone, using language I will not repeat here, that she absolutely loved the house.
New England potty-mouth at its best.
Perfect negotiating strategy, honey. The owner was standing right beside me. Any bargaining power we possessed left the room immediately.
And then my phone died.
There was Lynn in Colorado, suddenly staring at a black screen and wondering why her husband had vanished while walking through the house she had just declared her undying love for.
By then, the visit had already lasted over an hour. During our conversation, the owner and I realized something completely unexpected.
When we started talking about why I moved here, the owner and I almost simultaneously went into full John McEnroe, “You can’t be serious!”
“Wait,” he said. “You’re Doug. Doug from the Humane Society?”
“And you’re Tim. The Tim who just told me you nominated the shelter for a grant?”
The Facebook post guy had unknowingly been touring the home of someone already trying to help the shelter. You can’t make this stuff up.
Eventually, I got into my car, plugged in my phone, called Lynn, and said: “You’re not going to believe what happened after my phone died.”
She listened and said, “That seals it. That’s our home. No question about it now.”
So I booked her a flight to Charlotte. She walked through the house. She loved it just as much as she did through my phone. No, she loved it way more.
That in-person visit with Lynn lasted three hours. Three hours.
That "home showing" probably would have continued into dinner if I hadn’t finally told Lynn we couldn’t legally move in that afternoon.
And now, that little home, the one that sat quietly in our Zillow favorites for months while everything else came and went, is going to be ours.
In a little over 24 hours, we sold our Colorado house and found our home in North Carolina. After weeks of believing neither would happen.
The new house is in Newton. The shelter is in Newton. Less than 5 miles apart.
That means I’ll be able to come home for lunch and see my girls, just like I did for 12 years at my last shelter. And Brady can fall asleep in my lap while pretending he doesn’t care that I came home.
That matters more than a garage, a squat rack, or another 600 square feet ever could.
Soon, we’ll close the door on Colorado. Four days later, we’ll open the door to our little 1951 home. And after four months apart, everyone will finally be where they belong.
Together.
At last.
Home.
Doug
