How I Became This Woman: The Origin of the "Dog Lady"

My name is Summer Willow Fitch, and I think animals have been teaching me how to be human my entire life. If I'm going to tell this story from the beginning, I have to start with my parents.

Pretty much only two things were playing on our television when I was a child, if my father had anything to do with it: National Geographic and boxing.

My father, John H. Fitch Jr., was a musician, songwriter, producer, guitarist, and master-level dog trainer. He learned guitar by ear and went on to make records, write songs, arrange, and produce music. He approached animals with that same instinct. Daddy understood dogs because he watched, listened, and paid attention.

My mother was right there with him. She was Daddy's background singer, and they were two peas in a pod. They were loving, caring people who believed their Creator had given them the gift of animals and that those animals deserved our love, care, and protection. Music and animals were simply part of our household.

Music became part of my life too. I have perfect pitch. I'm a classically trained violinist and vocalist; I play bass, although not that great, and I spent a few decades as a professional singer. I was also the little girl who sang so loudly around the house that my mother eventually put me outside on the lawn with our two dogs, Ebony and Chocolate Man, because I was just too loud. One of our neighbors, who was a teacher, told her, "Debbie, don't shush that pretty little voice. Let her rip."

And she did. My parents let me be me.

At the same time, they taught me how to listen. Daddy taught me how to hear beyond sound. Pay attention to what isn't being said. Watch. Notice. Be still. Trust what you feel. Learn another living being instead of expecting them to communicate in a way that is convenient for you.

Animals gave me plenty of opportunities to practice. I've had everything from cats and dogs to a squirrel. With every pet, I sharpened a skill and opened my heart and mind a little more. I learned patience, responsibility, observation, and how to sit quietly. I learned that behavior is communication and love doesn't always require words.

I also learned about grief, and I learned it young.

I was about 10 years old when I experienced the pet loss that changed me. My parents had been divorced for some time, and my dog, Toto, lived with my dad. My mother had remarried, and although there was respect between my parents, my father did not come inside our house. So when Daddy showed up one day, came upstairs to my room, and woke me from a nap, I knew something was different.

He came to tell me Toto had died.

I remember the pain. I had never felt anything like it. I loved that dog, and suddenly he was gone. At 10 years old, I didn't have language for grief, attachment, or loss. I just knew it hurt so badly that I decided I never wanted another dog.

I tried to hide my heart from loving another animal full time.

My heart apparently had other plans.

I couldn't stop finding sick animals and bringing them home. I couldn't stop caring. I volunteered at shelters. I fostered. By the time I was about 14, I was helping animals find homes. Even while I was trying to protect myself from experiencing that kind of loss again, I kept finding my way back to animals.

Or maybe they kept finding their way back to me.

Years passed. Professionally, I built a career in training, development, strategy, and systems. Animals remained part of my life, but I didn't necessarily think of that work as part of my professional identity.

Then one day I looked up and realized something.

I had approximately 35 years of animal welfare and rescue experience.

Thirty-five years of finding, helping, fostering, volunteering, connecting animals with homes, loving them, losing them, grieving them, and learning from them.

Suddenly, it all made sense.

Looking back, I can see the throughline. The musician learned to listen. The singer learned the power of voice. The animal lover learned how much can be communicated without one. The 10-year-old who lost Toto learned how deeply the loss of an animal could hurt. The little girl who tried to protect her heart learned that protecting it and closing it were two different things. And eventually, the therapist in training started finding language for things that little girl had been learning all along.

Today, I am training to become a marriage and family therapist with a focus on the human-animal bond. I also became a Pet Grief Support Coach because I have an undying love for people and animals. I love animals deeply, but I also love the people who love them. So, when you are crying over that love, I soooo get it.

I understand the food bowl still sitting there, automatically looking toward their favorite spot, questioning an end-of-life decision, feeling guilty when you laugh again, or wondering whether loving another animal means betraying the one you lost. Sometimes you don't need someone to fix anything. You need someone who understands that this was love. A relationship. A routine. A source of comfort. A witness to your life.

I became this woman from a sweet little girl whose parents told her to open her eyes and her heart wider than her mouth. YUP. It stuck.

Somewhere between National Geographic, boxing, music, Ebony and Chocolate Man, Toto, a squirrel, a whole lot of singing, 35 years of animal welfare and rescue, loving a lot of animals and grieving them, I was learning how to listen, love, lose, grieve, and remain open.

My heart led me back.

And eventually, it all made sense.