Bailey wasn’t always the fluffy royalty you see today. Once upon a time, this droopy-eyed heartthrob was wandering the streets, looking like a mix between a cinnamon roll and a wet mop. We found him behind a gas station dumpster, trying to share his sad puppy eyes with a hot dog vendor. It worked—on us.

He was dirty, scared, and had the vibe of a dog who’d seen things. Like, serious things. The kind of things that turn you into a couch philosopher who contemplates life at 2 a.m. (Spoiler: he still does this.)

At first, Bailey didn’t trust anyone. He flinched at sudden movements, hated brooms (still does), and gave the vacuum the side-eye like it owed him money. But give a dog some kibble, a warm blanket, and 17 belly rubs a day, and you’ll see magic happen.

Fast forward a few months—Bailey now lives a life of complete and utter luxury. He has two beds (both ours), a designer harness (don’t ask the price), and a daily ritual of judging us from the couch like a royal court. He also has opinions—lots of them—usually expressed in dramatic sighs and long stares.

He no longer fears the world. In fact, he thinks he owns it. He struts around the neighborhood like the mayor. Every tree gets sniffed. Every human gets a skeptical glance. And if you don’t pet him, he’ll act like you just personally offended his ancestors.

But here’s the thing: Bailey’s not just funny—he’s family. He gives the best side-hugs, listens like a therapist (for treats), and somehow always knows when we’re sad. That little rescue behind the gas station? He rescued us right back.

And yes, we still let him have the last bite of toast.