In the fall of his senior year, Rico Beuford wasn’t sure if he was going to go to college at all.

His mom had died in a car accident when he was in grade school, and the deep sense of loss was hitting him again. He was filled with anger. He had moved out of his father’s house and was living with his aunt. Though he was taking all Advanced Placement classes at Parkway North High School in the St. Louis area, he was lashing out at his teachers. His life felt chaotic.

Then, a good friend’s mom intervened. Carla Feuer recognized what a promising student he was. She asked if he wanted a mentor to help him through the application process. He did.

She made sure he took his ACT on time. She kept him on track with application deadlines and suggested colleges for him to consider. She helped him navigate the financial aid quagmire. She read his essays for scholarship applications. She guided him in following up on emails with college officials when he wasn’t getting a response to his questions.

Next year, Beuford, now 24, will graduate from the University of Missouri at Kansas City. He was accepted into the accelerated medical school program right out of high school.

“His success is his success,” Feuer said. “I was just fortunate enough to be there to give him the support he needed.”

While the news headlines are dominated by wealthy parents cheating and bribing to get their kids into selective colleges, many low- and middle-income students don’t even have access to basic college counseling. High school counselors typically juggle hundreds of students and can’t provide the type of one-on-one counseling students need, especially those coming from families who have not been through the gantlet of college admissions.

David and Lois Zuckerman, founders of Mentors 4 College, saw this gap in 2011 when they started an all-volunteer corps of mentors to guide students in the Parkway School District, where their three children graduated. They trained other volunteers to mentor families with the aim of building college-savvy communities. The organization’s service to students is completely free to those within the district who ask for help.

The college admissions system is set up to favor those with resources, connections and know-how. A bunch of very rich families abusing the system is not surprising in the least, David Zuckerman said.

“It’s really about everyone else who is not getting any help,” he said. “There’s a much bigger problem that we are busy ignoring.” Finding the best post-high-school fit for a student, in terms of future goals and affordability, requires a few years of planning.

“Sixteen- and 17-year-olds are not the best planners,” he said. This major life decision is often fraught with emotions, which may override a student’s best long-term interests.

How remarkable would it be if parents in districts throughout the country took a similar approach to the students in their communities? Imagine if parents with recent experience adopted a student unfamiliar with the process and offered to support them through it.

Feuer said when she offered to help Beuford, her main thought was that he should have the same opportunities to succeed that her son had. She now laughs about how she wanted him to accept a full-ride scholarship that a different state school had offered him.

He was dead-set on becoming a doctor, and chose the program at UMKC.

“I was willing to gamble on myself,” he said.

Next year, he will walk across the stage with his medical degree.

Feuer plans to be there, cheering him on.

When my daughter was in third grade, she Googled “hypoallergenic dog” after years of hearing me tell her that our severe allergies prevented us from fulfilling her wish for a puppy.

She created a presentation on a rare breed, the Coton de Tulear, highlighting a list of reasons why this no-shed pup was the perfect dog for our family. I found images of this small, fluffy white dog with dark expressive eyes whenever I opened my computer.

At the time, I used the classic parenting delay tactic -- “we’ll see” -- instead of an outright rejection. I knew that with two young children and a career, I did not want to take on the responsibility of another living being. My husband had zero interest in acquiring a pet. Neither of us grew up with dogs. We both come from traditional Muslim families who believed dogs should be kept outside the home for reasons related to ritual purity when praying.

Fast-forward seven years: The kids are both teenagers. My daughter’s desire for a dog hasn’t abated. And now, I’m starting to feel a little anxious about how quickly the years of child-rearing are passing. I’m more susceptible to an adorable creature that needs nurturing. I struck a deal with my spouse that the dog would stay out of certain areas of the house, and we got on a waiting list with a reputable breeder.

When we picked up our 10-week-old puppy, we settled on the name Frankie (short for Franklin D. Woofevelt). My maternal instinct kicked into overdrive.

I moved an air mattress into the kitchen near Frankie’s crate and slept in front of him, so he wouldn’t cry at night. After being shamed by more experienced dog owners for going overboard, and worrying that I was ruining our puppy, I let him spend one night alone. He cried all night, and I didn’t sleep for a second. But it only took about a week for him to adjust to sleeping soundly in his crate without a human nearby.

I reverted to familiar concerns I had when our kids were babies. I worried he wasn’t eating enough, though the vet assured me he was growing just fine. I wondered if he would ever get potty-trained. I wasn’t sure how long his separation anxiety phase would last, or when he would outgrow his teenage rebellion. Some of the things he still does remind me of the kids’ toddler antics. When I use the restroom, he sits right outside the door anxiously awaiting my return. I entice him to eat his grain-free kibble by adding little chopped-up bits of apples, carrots or green beans to it. The first time I left him with a pet sitter overnight, I typed up a page of instructions for them.

I could tell I was becoming one of “those” dog people. I was reminded of an essay a reader sent me in 2017, in which the writer warned apocalyptically that pets were replacing children in America. Several such screeds point to the rising rate of dog ownership among millennials, the increasing amount pet owners spend on their animals and the delayed birth rate among this cohort. The reader who sent me the link seemed angry -- at her kids and the culture that has encouraged pet worship -- but she also seemed sad. Would she have to settle for grandpups instead of grandbabies?

Once I scoffed at people who described their pets as “furbabies,” and now I monitor the livestream feed of Frankie’s doggy daycare on my phone. I had to stop myself from calling the center when I witnessed a large goldendoodle bullying my baby, er, dog.

It’s easy to mock the more ridiculous aspects of pet culture, such as cosmetic procedures to fix a dog’s naturally floppy ears or doggy slings to carry a pup perfectly capable of walking. But had I known the unconditional, enthusiastic love a dog offers, I would never have waited this long to get our first pup.

Although, I think when kids enter the teenage years, that’s an ideal time to think about a puppy. Frankie is way more excited to see me than my kids have outwardly expressed in years. And while raising a dog is surprisingly expensive nowadays, they never go to college.

I was surprised by the intensity of my bond with this furry creature. I’m trying to be as objective as possible here: He legitimately looks like the cutest, sweetest, most lovable dog I’ve ever seen. No offense to other dog owners.

Even my daughter, who said getting him is one of the best things we’ve ever done, said recently that she hadn’t expected me to fall so hard for Frankie. If I had gotten a puppy 20 years ago, I can easily see how I might have put off having babies for a while.

I guess we found each other at the perfect time.

Frankie turns 1 this weekend.

You’ll have to excuse me, I have a cake to order.

At a family gathering decades ago, Sue Bierbaum’s husband’s uncle, a doctor, offered to check everyone’s blood pressure. It had started because grandma was struggling with some health issues.

When it was Bierbaum’s turn, the doctor wrapped the cuff around her arm and dismissed the first reading. He rechecked it several times.

“You really need to go to the hospital right now,” he told Bierbaum, then 26 and a first-grade teacher. “I’m not kidding.”

She said she felt perfectly fine. She laughed, “Uncle Val, you’re teasing me.”

“No, this is really serious,” he said. Her systolic blood pressure number was over 200. Anything over 140 is considered high.

She made an appointment a few weeks later and found out her kidneys were failing due to a filtering disease the doctors discovered. The worst part was that she and her husband at the time had just decided to try to start a family. Doctors told her it could be fatal for her or the baby if she got pregnant. A few months later, she found herself staring at a paper authorizing an operation that would sterilize her.

“I didn’t want to do it,” she said. “It was the hardest day of my life.”

More than anything, she had wanted to become a mother. She and her husband applied to adopt through Catholic Charities. She says they rejected her with a letter explaining that they had many parents who wanted to adopt who were healthy candidates. The couple appealed and sent letters from Bierbaum’s doctor, to no avail.

“That was another door closed,” she said. A lifelong Catholic, she still won’t donate there.

During a visit to her husband’s cousin in Texas, she learned about private adoptions. Their relatives offered to help with the legal process and their personal connections. In the spring of 1985, the lawyers started looking for a pregnant woman interested in having her baby adopted. Months of waiting and praying and hoping began.

On Nov. 13, a relative from Texas called Bierbaum’s elementary school. A woman working with her lawyers had delivered her baby. It was a boy, and they could come take him home. A school official announced it over the PA, and Bierbaum ran down the halls screaming with excitement. She and her husband flew down to Houston and picked up 2-day-old Ben. It was the happiest day of her life.

However, by then, she was 30 and her kidneys were nearing shutdown. In need of a transplant, her sister turned out to be a perfect match, and the operation was successful.

A few years later, when Ben was 3, Bierbaum and her husband separated; she raised him as a single parent until she remarried when he was 14. Now, after 28 years of teaching first-graders and then seven years of teaching future educators at St. Louis Community College in Wildwood, Missouri, she’s finally retired. But her kidney won’t last much longer.

A kidney from a live donor typically lasts between 10 to 15 years. Bierbaum is celebrating 32 years with her sister’s. “I’ve officially had it longer than her,” she jokes.

She’s facing dialysis and possibly years on a transplant list unless she can find another donor.

Her son, Ben Strake, now 33, had an idea. An investor in two Byrd & Barrel restaurant locations in the St. Louis area, he decided to launch an organ donation campaign. He’s created an online platform, match.mom, where potential donors can find out more information about organ donation and his mother’s story. Anyone who gets tested as a possible match in the month of April will be entered to win free fried chicken at Byrd & Barrel for life. He’s partnered with the St. Louis Blues, who play in the Enterprise Center, which has a Byrd & Barrel food spot. The Blues will announce the campaign during Monday night’s game.

He’s also getting tested himself and is willing to join a donor chain to increase his mom’s odds of finding a match. In that scenario, he would donate his kidney to a stranger in order for his mom to receive a kidney from a bigger pool of potential donors.

A few years ago, Strake connected with his birth mother and family. While they were warm and welcoming, he said the experience made him realize more than ever the opportunities and life his mom had given him when he was adopted.

“I feel like this person has given me everything,” he said, gesturing toward his mom, sitting next to him. “I need to do everything I can to try to extend that.”

He teared up, and his mom put her arm around him and kissed him.

“How am I ever going to repay you?” she has asked him.

“Live another 25 years, and we’ll call it square,” he said.