Thundar, My Peace

Sam Haylee Moreno
Jun 25
4 min read

When we lose a pet, we don’t just lose an animal; we lose a confidant, a protector, and in my case, Thundar was a piece, of Peace, God gave me right when I needed it most.

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I’ll never forget the day he came home. Born on the exact day of my first surgery, Thundar was more than just a dog — he was God’s perfect timing. I had just gone through a season of endless tests and pain, struggling to feel like a typical teenager again. I was 13, tired, frustrated, and honestly just wanted something, anything, to hold on to.

And then came Thundar...

I remember trying to name him Kevin - because I thought it would be funny to give him a human name. But, he didn’t budge. I tried Thunder. Nothing.

Finally, I looked at him and jokingly called out “Thunnnndarrrr!” — and he ran to me like we’d always known each other. A giant black furball running at me at full speed, and from that moment on, he was my best friend, my storm companion, my Peace.

Puppy Thundar ~ Day 1 of becoming a new addition to the Moreno Family!

From then on, he sat on my lap after hospital visits. He lay beside me when I was too weak to move. And through every single trial — from switching schools 3 times more, to facing emergency surgeries almost less than a year apart — he stayed. Not just as a dog, but as a constant, fluffy reminder that storms don’t last forever.

Everywhere we went, people got to know him. My teachers, my classmates, even my “bullies” — believe it or not — they all came to know how special he was to me. He was with me at nonprofit events, met so many important people in my life, and became part of the story I shared with the world. Even after his peaceful passing, people from middle school, high school, and places I hadn’t heard from in years reached out with messages and memories of him.

That’s when it really hit me… he wasn’t just a dog in my life - he was a part of my story, and heart.

Thundar heard me cry about boys, vent about school, and talk through friendships ending and beginning. He met everyone who mattered, and stayed with me even when I felt like no one else could.

He started getting sick in early June, just out of nowhere. We still don’t know exactly what it is. The vet said it might’ve been something he ingested, and that it had already progressed into stage four kidney disease. They told us it was a 50/50 shot — and at first, he was doing better.

When I left for Berkeley, he was more stable. So when my brother drove up to pick me up that Wednesday for my dad’s birthday (June 19th), I didn’t expect anything.But when we got home at 2 a.m. Thursday, I’ll never forget the noise that came out of my mouth when I saw him ; a cry? a groan? a scream ? All I knew in that moment was I was aching and making noises from such a new , different, deep pain I’ve never felt before.

He was frail.

His eyes were swollen.

He could barely get up.

He wasn’t eating or drinking.

He had lost so much weight.

He looked like he was barely holding on, and just waiting for me to say goodbye, and hold him, and kiss him one last time.

My heart broke.

We knew it was time.

I’m very blessed for the incredible service from Paw In Hand, created by Dr. Servantez, who was able to help him transition peacefully at home. Her entire practice was built out of compassion for pets who couldn’t make it to the vet, and for families who needed that Peace. Thundar passed, surrounded by me, my mom, my dad, my brother, and Lightning. He knew he was loved.

I still hug Lightning tight now — she rolls her eyes at me with that sass, but I know she misses him too. And somehow now I realize… I had Thundar. I have Lightning. I don’t need a third. I was the Peace all along.

God just sent him to teach me that - he taught me what it meant to have “faith the size of a mustard seed” — that even the slightest bit of belief can grow into something strong.

That verse from the Bible gave me hope, but Thundar was the physical reminder of it.

His giant paws used to smack me when I cried, like he was telling me to get it together, like a big bear of a therapist.

We always called him our baby bear.

That 120-pound doodle was my bear, my protector, my brother’s best friend, my dad’s shadow, my mom’s third child, Lightning’s gentle brother, and my greatest listener.

That’s why my nonprofit is called Thundar, Lightning & Peace.

Because life brings Thundar — the unexpected.

It strikes with Lightning — the trauma, the trials.

But if you keep going, there’s always Peace at the end of the storm.

Thundar’s legacy lives on in every vet we serve, every medic bag we hand out, every moment we bring someone a little bit of comfort. His paw print now sits where he used to lie — and it reminds me of those big old smacks he gave me, and the Peace he brought through every storm.