We were just supposed to foster him.
That was the deal. Two weeks, maybe three. Help the shelter clear space and give this big guy a break from the chaos. The listing said “St. Bernard mix, 90 lbs, very gentle.” And he was—gentle, I mean. But 90 pounds? Yeah, maybe in one paw.
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We named him Hugo.
The first red flag was the couch. He climbed up to sit with us on day two and the whole thing groaned. By week two, we couldn’t even both sit next to him—he’d take up the whole cushion like it was a dog bed custom-built for a bear.
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And he just kept growing.
That moment we realized Hugo was different came one evening when he stood up, stretched, and his back legs accidentally knocked over the coffee table. The vase of flowers—one of the few things I had left from my grandmother—tumbled to the floor, shattering. Hugo’s massive tail swung in slow motion, and there was nothing I could do but watch in horror.
“Okay, that’s enough,” I said, laughing nervously as I cleaned up the mess. “We need to talk about this. Hugo, you’re growing way too fast.”
But he didn’t listen. Instead, Hugo gave me that big, goofy smile of his, his huge tongue hanging out like a happy child. It was impossible to stay mad at him. Sure, he was growing in ways I hadn’t expected, but his heart was as big as his frame.
By the time the third week rolled around, Hugo’s growth spurt showed no signs of slowing down. He was, without a doubt, not a St. Bernard mix. Whatever breed he was, it wasn’t regular. I began to suspect that Hugo wasn’t just big for a dog—he was giant.
I reached out to the shelter to ask about his history, his parents, anything that could explain his size. They apologized for the mistake in the listing and told me Hugo’s father was a Great Dane. That explained a lot. But it also meant we were dealing with a potential 150-170-pound dog, and we had no idea how much bigger he’d get.
Our living room was becoming his territory, and I was starting to worry if we could continue fostering him. But at the same time, I couldn’t bear the thought of him going back to the shelter. He’d been through so much already—rescued from the streets, then placed in a noisy, overcrowded shelter. Hugo was sweet, loyal, and always followed us around like a giant shadow. It didn’t matter that he was practically taking over our entire space. He was family.
By month two, we had to start making adjustments. The couch was no longer an option. Hugo claimed the floor, and we both squeezed onto the loveseat. The bed was another challenge. I barely had room to stretch out my legs without bumping into his solid mass sprawled across the floor. But he was always careful, always aware of us. When I woke up to find him gently resting his giant head on my lap, my irritation melted away. How could I resist that face?
We started making changes to our routine. I began taking him to the park more often, even though I had to brace myself for the stares. People gawked when they saw Hugo’s enormous size, but there was something else too: admiration. They were amazed by how calm and well-behaved he was. It was as if the universe had given us a giant dog with a gentle soul.
But things got complicated when we took Hugo to the vet for his routine check-up. The doctor examined him, feeling his joints and watching his movements carefully. I could tell she was concerned.
“Has he been growing unusually fast?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I thought it was just a St. Bernard thing, but now… he’s huge.”
The vet nodded. “Well, I’m afraid Hugo may be growing at an alarming rate. I’d like to do some X-rays to make sure his growth plates are closing properly. If his bones are growing too quickly, it could cause long-term issues.”
The X-rays came back, and the vet was quiet for a long time. She explained that Hugo had an unusually fast rate of growth, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. His bones were strong, his health was stable, and though he was going to be larger than expected, there was nothing we could do to slow his growth. Hugo was simply built to be bigger than most dogs.
I couldn’t help but feel a little relief. Hugo’s health wasn’t in jeopardy, and that was the most important thing. But the question of how we could manage him going forward was still unanswered.
As Hugo’s size increased, we became more creative. We started taking him on outings to nature reserves, where he could roam freely without worrying about knocking over furniture or causing a scene. He was a gentle giant, and watching him interact with other dogs made me feel proud. He had no aggression in him—he only wanted to play. His massive paws could have intimidated smaller dogs, but instead, he was careful. He always seemed to know his size, and he was respectful of the other animals.
But then came the tipping point.
One day, when Hugo was about six months old, we came home from work to find the door to our backyard was wide open. We had a small fence that kept him in, but it wasn’t built to contain a dog of his size. I immediately ran outside, calling his name, panic rising in my chest.
Then, I saw him.
Hugo was standing at the edge of the road, wagging his tail as he looked at me. But there was something strange about how still he was—he wasn’t running around, as I had expected. I walked closer, my heart in my throat.
And that’s when I saw it. Hugo had knocked over the fence, and in the process, he had pulled a large, heavy piece of wood from the garden shed. There, wedged in the fence, was an old box that I’d been meaning to take to the recycling center. I had no idea how it had ended up there, but Hugo had managed to shift it enough to create a gap in the fence.
He wasn’t running away; he was trying to fix the problem.
I stood there, dumbfounded, watching as Hugo nudged the box with his nose, trying to push it back into place. It was as if he knew he’d caused a mess, and his gentle nature was attempting to make it right.
That’s when I realized—this wasn’t just a dog that had grown too big for us. Hugo had become more than just a pet. He was a symbol of how we had adapted, how we had managed to accommodate his growth in ways we hadn’t anticipated.
And in return, Hugo had grown into a more responsible companion. Despite his size, he was thoughtful. And in his own way, he was teaching us a lesson about patience, adaptability, and the importance of understanding and accommodating the changes that come our way.
We made a decision that night. Hugo wasn’t going back to the shelter. No matter how big he got, no matter the challenges we’d face, we were keeping him. He had become part of our family, and no matter how many changes lay ahead, we were ready to face them together.
The karmic twist? Over time, Hugo’s massive size helped us find a community of people who were also fostering large dogs. We started attending events, and it turned out that there were many others who had been through similar situations—people who were also trying to manage the challenges of caring for big, lovable dogs. We started a support group, exchanging tips, ideas, and stories of the challenges and rewards of raising dogs like Hugo. Through these connections, we found new ways to work with Hugo’s needs, and in return, Hugo brought new friendships and a sense of belonging into our lives.
Life is full of surprises, but sometimes, when things get overwhelming, the greatest rewards come from adapting and growing with the challenges. It’s about accepting what comes and making the most of it, no matter how big the task may seem.
If you’ve ever faced a challenge that seemed insurmountable, remember this: it’s not about how big the obstacle is, but how big your heart is in overcoming it.
