When I first met Honey, she was in a rough spot. She’d already been returned to the shelter twice and had just been diagnosed with a condition I knew little about—Megaesophagus (ME). All I really knew was that despite the shelter team trying everything—diet changes, management techniques—Honey was still declining. She wasn’t just underweight; she was wasting away in front of us. The stress of the shelter was too much.

At just 60 lbs., Honey was a shadow of the dog she could be. Everyone told me to give up, that she wasn’t going to make it. But something in her eyes said otherwise, so I took her home “just to foster.”

I’ll be honest—it was tough at first. Her condition meant she couldn’t eat like a normal dog. We had to get creative, consistent, and really patient. But little by little, things started to change. Her regurgitation lessened. She began gaining weight. Supplements helped. She got stronger. By the time she hit a healthy, vibrant 80 lbs, I knew this was no longer a foster situation—Honey had found her forever home. I adopted her and made her an official part of the Kopec pack.

But our happy ending almost unraveled just six months later.

One day, Honey vomited blood—small piles, but enough to terrify me. I called our vet, who agreed we needed to see her right away. X-rays revealed something alarming: her stomach had telescoped into her esophagus, a rare and life-threatening condition called Gastroesophageal Intussusception (GEI). My vet had never seen anything like it.

She was rushed into surgery. I was told the odds were 50/50. It was the longest three hours of my life.

Finally, the call came. Honey had made it through. The surgery had been complex—her stomach had completely folded into her esophagus, pulling other organs along with it—but thanks to the incredible team at Westpark Animal Hospital and our amazing vet, Dr. Nicole Planter, they were able to save her life.

Three days later, Honey came home.

Recovery wasn’t easy. We had a few setbacks—several bouts of aspiration pneumonia scared us and set us back. But with each one, we learned more about her needs. We fine-tuned her care, adjusted her routine, and stayed determined. She fought through every single challenge with the same quiet strength that made me fall in love with her in the first place.

Now, almost five years later, Honey is thriving. She’s over 11 years old and still the heart of our home. Her journey has been anything but easy, but she’s taught me more about resilience, trust, and second chances than I ever thought possible.

So, if you’re thinking about fostering—or adopting—a shelter dog, do it. Give them a shot. Sometimes the ones everyone else gave up on are the ones who’ll surprise you the most.

We picked out Maverick, our yellow (Dudley) Lab, to become a service dog for my wife. We brought him home at 8 weeks old, full of hope and excitement. But almost immediately, we noticed something was off—he was extremely bloated and made a “sloshing” sound when we picked him up. When we fed him, he began regurgitating his food. At the time, we thought he was vomiting, but we later learned it was actually regurgitation—a sign of something more serious. He also had a slight cough and some yellow-green nasal discharge.

Our regular vet was out of town, so Maverick saw a fill-in who attributed his symptoms to a vaccine reaction and sent us home. The next day, the regurgitation worsened, and soon he couldn’t keep anything down. We insisted on an X-ray, which revealed devastating news: Maverick had congenital idiopathic megaesophagus (ME) and aspiration pneumonia (AP). The vet admitted he had no experience with this rare condition.

We immediately turned to the University of Florida (UF), where Maverick was hospitalized. Their team confirmed the diagnosis and began managing the pneumonia. We were told his ME was severe, incurable, and not something he would outgrow—but with the right care, it could be managed.

Since then, Maverick has had quite a journey. Despite constant supervision, he once managed to swallow a raisin dropped at a family function, leading to an overnight ICU stay. Another time, while in his puppy pen, he somehow reached an unplugged extension cord tucked along the wall. He later threw up a ball of wire, resulting in another emergency visit. Let’s just say the internal medicine and ER teams at UF know Maverick well now. He’s a familiar face—known affectionately as “wiggle butt” for his ever-happy demeanor.

Thanks to countless adjustments to his food, medications, and close monitoring, Maverick’s ME is now considered well-managed. His internal medicine vet has been amazing, supporting us through every challenge.

But in February, at 11 months old, Maverick faced his biggest battle yet.

While accompanying my wife to her therapy session, Maverick suddenly became very restless—uncharacteristically refusing to settle, even while “working.” Around 1:30 PM, she took him outside, where he began retching, something that rarely happens with ME dogs. Eventually, he vomited a thick, mucous substance that she had to pull from his mouth. The episode lasted 15 minutes. She immediately knew something was seriously wrong and rushed him to UF, a 45-minute drive away. On the way, Maverick cried out in distress, vomited several times, and couldn’t sit or lay down. When they arrived, he began vomiting blood.

The ER team acted quickly. His labs looked surprisingly good considering what his X-rays revealed: his stomach had telescoped into his esophagus—a rare and life-threatening condition called gastroesophageal intussusception (GEI). The intern explained that while surgery was an option, outcomes were uncertain due to the rarity of the condition.

My wife called me at work (just across the street) in tears, urging me to come immediately. She had already contacted our internal medicine vet and requested the on-call surgeon. Both specialists agreed—if Maverick were their dog, they would proceed with surgery.

I arrived a little after 7 PM and got a brief but emotional visit with Maverick. He looked so weak and pitiful in the kennel, but he still wagged his tail when he saw me. We knew we had to try. As a service dog, Maverick has played a huge role in helping my wife manage her PTSD. We couldn’t give up on him. And thanks to the quick action and how stable his labs were, the doctors believed he had a strong fighting chance.

One of UF’s surgeons—who had performed this exact surgery successfully twice before—came in on her day off. The surgery involved three surgeons working together for 30 minutes to gently pull Maverick’s stomach out of his esophagus. Thankfully, there was no necrosis, though a small section of the stomach was discolored due to restricted blood flow. That area quickly began returning to a healthy pink once blood supply was restored. They performed a gastropexy, attaching both sides of his stomach to the abdominal wall—one side to prevent GEI from recurring, and the other to prevent Gastric Dilatation and Volvulus (GDV), or bloat, which is common in deep-chested breeds.

Maverick remained in ICU for a couple of days, heavily sedated and on IV fluids. He was transitioned to Hill’s i/d Low Fat Digestive Care diet to help prevent pancreatitis. This diet, combined with the surgery, proved to be incredibly beneficial. We’ve since modified it slightly to add a bit more fat and are thrilled with how well he’s doing.

Today, Maverick is happy, thriving, and continues to be an amazing support animal and member of our family. We are forever grateful to the dedicated team at UF—especially our internal med vet, who went above and beyond, checking in constantly and sending updates.

In conclusion, we can’t stress enough the importance of being in tune with your dog, trusting your gut, and acting fast. These special pups need us to advocate for them. We were lucky to have access to such an exceptional veterinary team and the financial means to cover Maverick’s care. We recommend setting aside funds for emergencies—you never know when you’ll need them. It was absolutely worth every penny. We’d do it all again in a heartbeat for Maverick, our beloved, wiggly boy.

Heart came into my life as a puppy in 2018. When I brought her home at 4 months old she weighed just 15.74 pounds, all of her littermates were already over 30 pounds. She was diagnosed with congenital idiopathic megaesophagus (ME), a condition that made eating and drinking a daily challenge. But with careful management and a lot of love, Heart began to thrive. Within a year, she grew to 36 pounds—a true testament to her strength and spirit.

But on January 16, 2020, a seemingly normal Thursday morning, everything changed. She was regurgitating blood, something she had never done before. I took her to the emergency vet and they discharged her with fluids and an anti-nausea shot. But a few hours later, my gut told me something still wasn’t right. I brought her back and pushed for X-rays.

That’s when I got the devastating news. Her stomach had telescoped into her esophagus—a condition called gastroesophageal intussusception (GEI), which can happen in severe ME cases. Because the body’s organs are connected by fibrous tissue, other organs had also been pulled out of place. She was in pain. She couldn’t eat or drink. Surgery was an option, but it would have been incredibly hard on her, with no real guarantees. Even if she survived the surgery, she would still have ME, still face aspiration pneumonia, and still be in and out of the vet for the rest of her life. And Heart hated the vet—she hated being restrained, getting shots, X-rays, everything.

After talking with other ME dog parents, Heart’s regular vet, my friends, and family, I knew what I had to do. Racing around for scans and surgery while she was suffering would have been for me—not for her. I chose to let her go before things got worse. I didn’t want to make that decision. No one ever does. The vet never even suggested humane euthanasia as an option, which I found strange given how serious the situation was. But when Heart passed, blood poured from her nose and mouth. She let me know it was the right choice. I think she’d been holding on for me.

I cried for what felt like an eternity. I would look over at her corner of the room, and it all came rushing back. I just wanted my adorable, “broken” puppy back. I know we all love our animals, but when you care for a dog with ME—doing all those little things every day—it becomes something more. A kind of codependency. She took a piece of me with her that night, and I’ll never get it back.

Heart’s story is just one among many—and that’s why we need more research into ME and GEI. Too many animals are lost to conditions we don’t fully understand yet. We need better answers, better treatments, and ultimately, a cure. I’m forever grateful to Donna and Bob for everything they do through the Upright Canine Brigade and their 501(c)(3), The UCB Buffy Project. Their dedication, knowledge, and compassion have been a lifeline—not just to me, but to so many ME families. Their work brings hope, and that hope is everything.

—Shari, Heart’s Momma