Jun 20, 2026 By Garrett Neese 6 min read

EDITOR’S NOTE: This is one in a monthlong series of profiles of the people who live and work in Washington, Greene and Fayette counties, in celebration of the nation’s 250th anniversary.

When Robert Lowry’s Chihuahua died from a seizure after 16 years, he swore he’d never get another dog.

“I told my family, ‘To hell with dogs. I’m done,'” he said.

That lasted seven months.

His niece suggested getting another pet could ease his heart. When a woman brought around several dogs, he formed an instant bond with a little black Chihuahua.

The dog was still skittish around people, having been beaten by the woman’s ex-boyfriend.

And he bit Lowry.

To someone else, that might have confirmed swearing off dogs was the right move. Instead, Lowry asked for 10 minutes alone with the dog.

“I put him on my bed, I pointed at him, I said, ‘You go around biting people, nobody is going to love you,'” he said to the dog he named Shadow. “I said, ‘Here, you don’t get beat, you get loved,’ and it kicked in, and I’ve had him ever since.”

It’s something that has defined Lowry’s recent life — a caretaker role he hadn’t expected, but has grown to cherish.

On a recent Friday, he was playing with his three dogs: Shadow, Sheba and the youngest, Sheena, at the Tales on the Trail dog park in Uniontown. On a 90-degree day, he kept a watchful eye on them, steering them to shade (as much as you can steer three excited dogs) and making sure they got water.

They’re not the only responsibility he’s assumed. Since 2015, he’s been taking care of his 11-year-old grandson, Bobby.

Neither Lowry’s son nor the boy’s mother were able to raise him, Lowry said.

“It was like deja vu all over again, waking up in the middle of the night, feeding, changing his diaper,” he said. “I was like, ‘I could have swore I’ve been through all this,’ but like I said, I just do what I can do for him, make sure he’s happy.”

Bobby had been through “living hell” as a child, almost dying at birth, Lowry said. Born with underdeveloped lungs, he required breathing treatment; Lowry remembers racing to put a mask on his grandson for a nebulizer when he heard him gasping for air. When he was 2, he underwent surgery to prevent testicular cancer.

His grandson was also diagnosed with autism at a young age. Lowry has grown familiar with trips to counselors, psychiatrists and other specialists.

Lowry’s also educated himself on the condition, reaching out to other guardians in online groups to share their experiences.

Like all parents, he tries to give Bobby the life skills he’ll need, teaching him to tie his shoes, or reminding him of the “buy one” requirement before you can “get one free.”

If Bobby acts up, Lowry said, he’s discovered the most effective form of discipline for a modern child: shutting off the internet.

“Whatever they’re going through, you have patience, and you help them through it, and work with them, and that’s the only thing you can do,” he said.

Next year, Lowry’s looking to get Bobby into Merakey in Mt. Pleasant, a school for children with autism.

Lowry likes to take his grandson to Areford Park, and plays basketball with him on a court in their backyard. And he keeps Bobby stocked with the wrestling action figures and memorabilia he loves.

“He likes the wrestling belts – he thinks he’s champion,” Lowry said. “He makes videos like that.”

Lowry gets to raise his grandson not far from where he spent his own youth.

Lowry grew up nearby in Oliver No. 3, a small community originally built for workers of the nearby coal mine and coal works.

It’s where he’d get on the school bus with all his friends, and play with them at the creek once classes were over. And it’s where he tried crawling through the fence separating his family’s home from Mr. Mills’ farm next door.

Emphasis on the word “tried.”

“I learned for the first time in my life what an electrical fence is,” he said.

For the past 55 years, he’s lived in Uniontown.

Life has taken him on a journey since — a wife (now ex-wife), girlfriends, two children (a son and a daughter) and numerous jobs.

Lowry worked at a succession of lumberyards. He still vividly recalls the days spent stacking lumber on cold, snowy, winter days.

“When your gloves get wet, you wring them out, you walk over to the fire barrel, you dry them some, put them back on, go back to work,” he said.

When his kids were young, he’d walk the three miles from the bottom of Berkeley Street to the Big Lots store at Uniontown Mall for his shift, then walk back in time to greet them as they came off the school bus.

And he spent many years at Vocelli Pizza, first as a driver, then as manager.

The 68-year-old will still DoorDash from time to time, much to the consternation of his daughter, who tells him he’s running his vehicle down.

“I told my daughter, ‘You need something in your house, you can just go and buy it, and everything’s fine,'” he said. “I can’t. If I need extra shampoo in the house, or soap, or a gallon of milk, or something, and I don’t have the money, I could go out on DoorDash, make a little bit of money, then go buy it. That’s my life. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

With utility prices going up, and a $300 electric bill in May, Lowry is starting to look around for a cheaper place to live.

Wherever he lands, and however many DoorDash runs it takes, he’ll find a way to keep providing for his grandson.

“As long as God lets me be alive, I’ll stick with him, help him out,” Lowry said. “I already helped him all through school, supplying everything he needs. My life right now is him and my dogs.”