When the floodwaters came, they came fast. One moment, Chloe Adams was inside her home, watching the rain pound harder against the windows. The next, she realized the water was creeping past the doorstep, filling the rooms of the house she grew up in. Within minutes, it wasn’t just a bad storm anymore—it was a fight for survival.
But Chloe wasn’t alone. At her side was Sandy, her childhood dog. Once a playful puppy who had grown up alongside her, Sandy was now a senior—slower, more fragile, and unable to swim against the current that was sweeping through their world.
As the water rose higher, Chloe’s thoughts weren’t about herself. “I was more worried about losing her than me,” she later admitted. All she could think about was finding a way to keep Sandy safe.
The plan was simple in theory but terrifying in execution: they needed to make it to higher ground. The closest option was a neighbor’s rooftop. But how could she get Sandy there?
Chloe tried everything she could find. First, she placed Sandy on her dog bed, hoping it would float. But it sank almost immediately. Next, she grabbed a large plastic container, the kind just big enough for Sandy to curl into. For a moment, it seemed like it might work—but as soon as it hit the water, it began to tip and sink. Panic set in. Time was running out.
And then she saw it: a couch cushion. Chloe wedged the cushion beneath the plastic container, creating a makeshift raft. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. Gently, she lifted Sandy into the container, whispered a promise that she’d keep her safe, and slid into the cold, rising water herself.
The current tugged at her body, her arms straining as she swam while guiding Sandy’s fragile raft. Stroke after stroke, she pushed toward the rooftop. The container wobbled, threatening to tip, but Sandy clung to it, trusting Chloe completely. Finally, exhausted but determined, Chloe reached the edge of the roof, pulled herself up, and carefully lifted Sandy to safety.
For the next five hours, they sat there together—soaked, cold, and shivering in the relentless rain. Chloe kept Sandy in her lap, shielding her with the plastic container like a tiny roof. The water below them kept rising, and fear gnawed at Chloe’s chest, but she never let Sandy go.
At last, a familiar figure appeared in the distance: her uncle, paddling toward them in a kayak. Relief washed over Chloe as he reached the rooftop. They climbed in—both tired, both shaken, but alive.
Today, Chloe and Sandy are recovering at her grandmother’s house. The fear of that night lingers, but so does something stronger: gratitude. Gratitude that they are still together. Gratitude that, even in the darkest hours, the bond between a girl and her dog carried them through.
“We comfort each other when going through something hard,” Chloe said softly. “I’m there to hold her and tell her it’s OK, and she lays her head in my lap knowing I’m in pain.”
It wasn’t just a rescue. It was a reminder of love—the kind that fights against floods, fear, and impossible odds.
