A child's dream, a dog named Tequila, a brindle runt who refused to be put down, and two people who decided to stop waiting.
It started as a child. Land — preferably hills, trees, and a river or big stream. A place to walk the property, caretake the land, and offer shelter to any animal in need. Somewhere big enough that there was room for any soul seeking it. A place they could belong. A place where they could be at peace.
"That dream sat quietly for years, the way real ones do."
The first time Jordan told Brittany about the dream, they were just starting to date. She asked what his life goal was. He told her. She listened.
By then, Jordan already had Tequila — an Australian Shepherd/Cattle Dog mix who had become his whole world outside of work and school. Tequila was his partner through one of the hardest periods of personal change he'd ever faced. The kind of friend who keeps you grounded when you're not sure who you are anymore. Brittany, by her own admission, may have started dating Jordan partly just to spend time with his dog.
Within the first few months, Brittany moved in. The three of them built a life together.
When Tequila got sick a few years later — her life cut short by a vet who cared more about money than the animal in front of him — it broke something in both of them. Tequila was the single biggest influence of Jordan's life. She had reminded him how to love and how to be patient. She had connected him to the world.
"Her loss nearly undid all of it."
For a time, Jordan considered closing back down. Returning to the more guarded, more callous version of himself that Tequila had helped him leave behind. The sanctuary dream felt distant. The emotional cost of loving something you will inevitably lose felt, for a moment, too high.
Brittany could tell Jordan was withdrawing. She needed a dog of her own — a companion, a reason to stay open. She started looking at shelters ("adopt, don't shop" was already part of who they were), but the landlords said no. Shelters require written permission. Permission was denied.
So Brittany found a breeder of American Staffordshire Terriers — her favorite breed, and, as it turned out, the exact breed Jordan had originally wanted when he got Tequila, before a different landlord had said no to that breed specifically. She didn't know that when she started looking.
The litter had nine puppies. Eight were blue or fawn colored. One was brindle. She was also female, and she was the runt — the smallest, the shyest one in the pile.
"Brittany picked her up. Valory curled into her arms and went to sleep. Brittany refused to put her down again."
Jordan tried to keep his distance. He wanted to honor what he'd lost. He wanted to give Brittany space to build her own primary bond with this dog. He told himself he wasn't ready. For about two months, he kept his engagement as minimal as he could manage.
It didn't last.
The thing that finally got through was something ordinary: a walk.
Jordan and Tequila had shared walks as one of their primary connections — the movement, the distance, the rhythm of going somewhere together. When Tequila died, that thread went with her. When Valory came along, she loved walks too, but she walked differently.
Tequila had been about the journey. Valory was about the people.
Every walk became an introduction. Dogs, strangers, neighbors, anyone on the sidewalk — Valory wanted to know all of them. And she remembered. The man from three blocks over who had stopped to pet her the week before. The woman who always had treats in her coat pocket. Valory would spot them from a distance and pull toward them like a reunion.
"It was impossible to stay withdrawn when the creature beside you was already halfway across the street, tail going, insisting that this stranger was worth knowing."
When a person loses faith, they need connection to something — or someone — to remind them who they are and why they matter. Valory is a great connector. She made pals everywhere she went. She turned strangers into familiar faces, and familiar faces into friends. And slowly, on those walks, she pulled Jordan back out into the world.
She won him over. Not through a single dramatic moment, but through the slow, stubborn, daily work of refusing to let anyone stay a stranger.
Her name is Valory. One L — because it's not a spelling, it's a description.
Valor-y. Named for her character. The runt of the litter, the shyest one, who turned out to have the most courage of anyone in the room — not the loud kind, but the kind that matters: the willingness to walk up to anyone and say hello, I'd like to know you.
"The name Val's Pals came directly from her. She made pals. That was the whole thing, right there, already happening on every walk."
For a long time, the sanctuary lived in the future. Someday — when there was land, hills, a river, a place big enough to hold the dream properly.
Brittany made the point simply: Why are we waiting?
There are animals in the neighborhood, the city, the zip code who need help right now. There are souls looking for a place to belong right now. The work they were already doing, the love they were already giving — why delay it for a future that wasn't promised?
"The dream didn't need to wait for the right acreage. It needed to start where they were."
And so it did.
Val's Pals Animal Sanctuary exists because Jordan spent his life recognizing a feeling — the feeling of being out of place, of not quite fitting, of looking for somewhere to belong. He saw it in himself. He saw it in shelter animals — in the eyes at the kennels, in the strays, in every overlooked creature waiting for someone to notice.
He also learned, through years of animal friendship, that every one of them is entirely themselves. Unique physical traits, distinct personalities, particular quirks. Each as different from the last as any two people you've ever met. And the only thing required to know them — really know them — is time.
Tequila taught him to love and be patient.
Valory taught him that love, even knowing the cost, is always worth it.
"Val's Pals is the proof."
The one who had the dream first. Jordan has spent his life recognizing the feeling of not quite fitting in — and building something for everyone who knows that feeling too.
contact@valspalssanctuary.orgThe one who asked "why are we waiting?" Brittany picked up a brindle runt and refused to put her down — and in doing so, she started all of this.
contact@valspalssanctuary.orgVal's Pals exists for the animals who have nowhere else to go — and for the people who believe every story deserves a chance to keep going.
We show up for animals who have been overlooked, surrendered, or left behind. No backstory required.
Medical care, patience, time. Every animal that comes through our door gets what they need to recover — physically and emotionally.
We believe love — even knowing the cost — is always worth it. That's not a policy. It's the whole point.
Every animal here is entirely themselves. The only thing required to know them — really know them — is time.
"Every life matters. Every story isn't over yet."Val's Pals Animal Sanctuary · Buhl, Idaho · Est. 2024