Hephaestus My Souldog

 Eleven years ago, at the Quad State Round Up—a legendary blacksmith hammer-in in Troy, Ohio—fate handed me a wriggling bundle of Great Dane pup from a litter of ten. My friend picked him out for me  because he whined before he went potty and he would be easy to house train.  amid the ringing anvils billowing forges and tailgate sales, that's where we met.  Named after the Greek god of the forge, he was a playful nod to my bladesmith life—the ultimate “dog of the forge.” From that sunny day surrounded by every blacksmith tool imaginable , and fellow smiths, he became more than a dog—he was with me every minute of the day. Since i am self employed (talk about separation anxiety) he was  my shadow, my protector, my confidant and the heartbeat of my world.

Hephaestus wasn’t just big in size; he was huge in smarts and heart. He’d herd my hens with a gentle nudge, keeping wild birds and threats at bay like a natural-born guardian. He understood me and followed my instructions to a depth that even today blows my mind.  it was his playful side that kept life light: counter-surfing for snacks, slobbering over doorknobs in failed escape attempts, and any unlucky visitor to come in the house he would slime with fresh drool just to let you know you were on his turf.  He always had to taste test whatever I was eating. We had our battles too—like wrestling him into baths he despised. In his later years, I just let him be, skipping the soapsuds altogether, which left him smelling like stale Doritos. Not bad, just uniquely him—a scent I’d come to love.

In the shop, he’d lounge by my feet while I forged knives, a constant reminder that if i didn't watch my step i would die from a trip or fall and end up a statistic in some government report somewhere  . He wasn’t just part of my business—he was woven into it, starring in photos, shedding short black hairs in knife boxes  and  barking at anyone who came up the lane to the shop. Turning tough days into bearable ones with a simple wag of his tail or groan or that pleading look to go for a long walk around the property that he had free reign over.

When he passed on October 28, 2025, after 11 incredible years, it left a hole nothing can fill. But his legacy? It’s in every act of kindness he inspired, every laugh he sparked, Hephaestus taught me about unconditional love—the kind that’s steady and true, no matter what. After three marriages and divorces, where love always came with conditions or transactions, I had never experienced it before, so I didn’t recognize it until he was gone. That realization is what he left me with, that I HAD experienced unconditional love. With him, it was a no-matter-what, ride-or-die bond, even if he’d judge me with that signature side-eye glance. He wasn’t man’s best friend; he was mine. And that’s why he mattered so much.

When you purchase a Soul Dog knife, you will be given the option for an engraving. There you can specify what you want—Soul Dog or Soul Cat—and you can add a small engraving of your choice (keep in mind the area is limited and I can’t do anything really big). The total cost of the engraving will be $15.00, all of which will be donated to the Coshocton County Animal Shelter. Donating to the shelter honors that unbreakable bond—because everyone deserves a chance at the kind of love Hephaestus gave me. 

Lon