Wiggle Butt Origin Story: Clover
Wiggle Stories
Wiggle Stories is a collection of moments from my life - the dogs who shaped me, the lessons they taught me, and the joy they brought along the way. Some stories are funny, some are messy, some are heartbreaking, and all of them are real.
This is where I share how I learned about the wiggle butt, fell completely in love with it, and eventually embraced the Wiggle Butt Society lifestyle. The unconditional love. The chaos. The laughter. The way dogs have a way of changing us when we least expect it.
At this stage of my life, I’m choosing to lean into that joy - to slow down, tell the stories that matter, and build something meaningful from them. Wiggle Stories is about connection, shared experiences, and the dogs who leave paw prints on our hearts.
I’ve been lucky enough to love many dogs over the years, and I’ll share the stories of the ones who left the deepest paw prints on my heart.
The first Wiggle Story begins with the dog who started it all - my first wiggle butt, Clover.
Wiggle Story #1: Clover
My first dog came into my life when I was just five years old.
My mom took me to the pet store and told me I could pick out a small white female dog. She had to be white because we already had a black dog - my mom liked symmetry 🤣.
There was only one small white female puppy there. She was ugly.
Like… Benji, but an ugly Benji.
My mom suggested we keep looking. Maybe find a cuter puppy.
I said "No, I want that dog". Probably because I was five and had no patience to keep looking.
This was my first dog.
We brought her home, and I named her Putzi. She was my best friend throughout my childhood. I loved her tremendously. She was my dog in every way that matters.
But everything changed when I was seventeen.
That’s when Clover came into my life - my first Boxer.
And suddenly, I understood something I hadn’t before.
The wiggles.
The unconditional love.
The complete lack of personal space.
The class clown energy.
The escape artist tendencies.
The kind of joy that hits you right in the chest and never really leaves.
Don’t get me wrong - I loved Putzi deeply. But getting a Boxer was a whole different thing.
Clover was the runt of the litter and she cost $40 (she was definitely from a backyard breeder) she was tiny, and she never grew very big. At her largest, she weighed maybe 35 to 40 pounds. People constantly told me I needed to feed her more, that she was malnourished.
She wasn’t.
She ate like a pig.
She was just small.
Clover taught me patience.
She taught me love.
She taught me more than I even realized at the time.
She also taught me that a 40-pound Boxer is more than capable of escaping a six-foot wooden fence.
She would clamber up that fence and take herself on adventures - usually straight to the McDonald’s down the street, where people happily fed her. Which, of course, only encouraged her to escape again for more cheeseburgers.
One time, she got out and didn’t come home.
She was gone for several days, and I was sick with worry. Eventually, someone called the Humane Society and said they had found a small Boxer running around. I had already reported her missing, so they contacted me.
When we arrived, they told us she was in their backyard.
By the time we got there… she had escaped their yard too.
We spotted her down the road. I called her name, and she came barreling toward me like nothing had ever been wrong. She jumped in the car, covered me in kisses, and radiated pure joy - like she’d just had the best vacation of her life.
That wasn’t the last time she went missing.
Another time, while visiting my mother-in-law, she spotted a rabbit, slipped out of her collar and took off like a rocket. She was just… gone.
This was the ’90s - no social media or neighborhood Facebook groups. I printed flyers at the copy store and posted them all over town.
The next day, a man called and said he knew who had my dog.
We met him and he led us to a different part of town, jumped a fence, and stole my dog back for me, collected the $20 reward, and Clover was home again!
She lived fully. Loudly. Fearlessly. With zero regard for fences, rules, or personal space.
When Clover was only two, our world stopped. She was diagnosed with cancer. Most people would say 'she’s just a dog' or look at the runt of the litter and give up. But there was no version of my life that didn't have her in it. We fought it, we treated it, and against the odds, we got six more incredible, chaotic, wiggle-filled years. She didn't just survive; she lived. She reminded me that every wiggle is a gift.
For the next handful of years, we leaned into that gift. We went on more adventures, but she calmed down some and quit escaping to adventure on her own, and she started perfecting the art of being my shadow. We didn't take a single 'boring' day for granted because we knew exactly how close we had come to losing her.
When Clover was seven, we added another Boxer to the family - a silly white boxer with one blue eye and one brown one. We named her Crimson. Yes - Crimson and Clover. Adding a puppy to the mix brought her right back to her old puppy antics.
About a year later Clover was diagnosed with cancer again.
She didn’t live much longer.
She passed away at eight years old - far too soon - but she left giant paw prints on my heart. The kind that never fade. The kind that shape everything that comes after.
I will love her forever.
And Wiggle Butt Society?
It started with her.