Buddy the “Muggle” Papillon, Blueberry the Legend, and the Art of Making Room

A lot of people have asked me lately, usually right after “What are you working on next?” and right before “Can Blueberry please narrate my life?” — how is Buddy doing? Is he settling in? Is he adjusting? Is he surviving life with a self-proclaimed magical Papillon?

If you missed it last year, yes — I adopted another Papillon. His name is Buddy, he is eleven years old, and he arrived with big eyes, a hopeful heart, and absolutely no idea what he was walking into.

Blueberry, of course, had opinions.

She would like it officially noted that she is the magical Papillon. Capital M. Capital P. She insists Buddy is a “muggle Papillon,” which feels both unfair and suspiciously on brand. Still, despite her protests (and her dramatic sighing), I have a strong feeling he’s growing on her.

Not that she’d ever admit it.

In the beginning, she made sure to establish the rules. She demonstrated her agility skills with the enthusiasm of an Olympic athlete auditioning for applause. She attempted to steal his food — unsuccessfully — because Buddy, sweet soul that he is, has a quiet confidence that says, I belong here. And honestly? He does.

Slowly, subtly, in ways only animals (and maybe writers) truly understand, something shifted. The house stretched. Our routines softened. Our hearts adjusted their furniture and made space.

Because that’s what this is all about, isn’t it?

Sharing. Caring. Learning how to exist together without losing who you are. Being there when somebody needs you, even when it wasn’t part of the original plan. Especially when it wasn’t part of the plan.

If this all sounds strangely familiar — if you’re thinking, Wait… haven’t I read this somewhere before? — yes. Probably in one of my books. Funny how that happens.

Life has a habit of sneaking into my stories. Or maybe my stories are just paying close attention to life.

As a cozy mystery author, I write about found family, second chances, small towns, and the quiet magic tucked into ordinary days. I write about pets who understand more than they should, homes that expand to fit new souls, and hearts that figure things out as they go along.

Buddy didn’t replace anything. He added to it. Just like new characters do. Just like unexpected chapters do. Just like the moments that don’t announce themselves as important until much later.

Blueberry still rolls her eyes (internally, I assume). She still insists on being the most impressive creature in the room. But she’s made room — in the house and in her heart — and honestly, that might be the most magical thing of all.

And if that theme sounds familiar, well… life is the best co-author I’ve ever had.

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