“We are too old for puppies,” my wife said many times. Our children were grown. Our 12 year old Labrador had passed away in June 2025. We thought we were done with dogs. It felt like too much pain and too much work. We wanted a quiet retirement. Last Sunday (Jan 18, 2026), our daughter took us to a rescue event. She said we would just look at the older dogs. But when we arrived, all the older dogs were already adopted. Only two pit bull puppies were left. They had been ignored all day. The foster volunteer said softly, “People don’t want pit bulls. Even puppies. Everyone walks past them.” They were clumsy and funny. Big paws, floppy ears. The boy kept tripping over himself. The girl somehow got her head stuck in her brother’s harness. My wife knelt down to help them. The little girl climbed into her lap, gave a big puppy sigh, and fell asleep. The boy looked at me with big, round eyes. His whole body started wagging, not just his tail. “We’re too old,” my wife whispered. But she was crying. And she was holding that puppy like she would never let go. We are 66 years old now. Our house is puppy proofed. We have baby gates and chew toys. We have two pit bulls who think the couch belongs to them. And we have never felt more alive. Fuzzy and Wuzzy, thank you. You gave two empty nesters a reason to laugh again. Thank you for choosing us.