When Bishop landed in Vancouver from Los Angeles in March 2020, he came barreling into our world like a flash of sunlight — and chaos.
He was a long-haired blond Shepherd mix from Westside German Shepherd Rescue, and the moment we tried to put his collar on at YVR’s cargo terminal, he slipped free and bolted. For forty-five minutes he ran, terrified, through the chaos of the airport — from the cargo bay to the main terminal — until we finally found him near a construction site.
Heart pounding, I knelt down and called his name.
He stopped.
Just like that.
And he came back.
That was Bishop in a nutshell — wild heart, loyal soul.
He settled into Canadian life fast. Long hikes, endless car rides, soft beds, and belly rubs became his new normal. He was goofy, affectionate, and beautiful in that golden-boy way that makes strangers stop mid-sentence.
Yet beneath the comedy lived something formidable. Bishop was protection made flesh — calm, grounded, unshakeable. He didn’t need to bark to command a room. He just existed, and things aligned around him.
Then cancer came again — June 2022.
The same brutal diagnosis that had taken Tia.
For eleven days we tried everything — medication, rest, prayer — but on June 20 he let us know it was time.
Losing him reopened every wound I thought had healed. But Bishop’s story was never tragedy. It was redemption. He came into our lives after devastation and reminded us that starting over doesn’t mean forgetting — it means honouring the past by loving again.
I still see him in golden light — that shimmer of blond fur when the sun hits just right. Maybe he’s reminding me that courage sometimes comes with laughter, even in the middle of heartbreak.
Legacy Note:
Bishop’s story taught me that every rescue is really a comeback — and sometimes the life you save ends up saving you right back.