Befriending Betsy: A Memoir

As a reader in my thirties who grew up in a home full of both laughter and rescued pets, Befriending Betsy struck an emotional chord I didn’t expect. The book, co-authored by Betsy Pauly (through her unpublished drafts) and writer-editor Jen Braaksma, is a heartwarming, funny, and deeply reflective blend of biography, memoir, and creative collaboration across time. Braaksma’s premise is remarkable; she never met Betsy, who had passed away before their “partnership” began, yet through Betsy’s stories, she brings to life a woman so vivid and compassionate it feels as though she’s still in the room.

What stands out immediately is the writing style. Braaksma’s narrative voice is clear, warm, and full of curiosity, while Betsy’s original prose bursts with color and energy. Betsy’s writing is delightfully quirky; her animal tales sparkle with humor, empathy, and a kind of joyful chaos. In “The Discombobulated Dog,” she recalls stripping off her pantyhose in downtown Dallas to leash a stray: “amid a swarm of bumper-to-bumper passersby… I stripped out said stockings and tied them securely around my new furry, attention-deficit friend.” It’s a perfect example of how she could turn an act of kindness into a slapstick adventure while never losing sight of her moral compass.

Braaksma acts as both biographer and detective, peeling back the layers of Betsy’s life through her unfinished manuscripts and through conversations with Betsy’s husband, Chips. What she discovers, and what readers feel, is the authenticity of a woman whose life was guided by love, humor, and a fierce devotion to animals. The book’s title becomes literal: by reading Betsy’s words, Braaksma truly “befriends” her, and we, as readers, do too.

I appreciated the way Braaksma intertwined her own reflections with Betsy’s original text. It gives the narrative rhythm, alternating between laughter, poignancy, and moments of insight about grief, art, and purpose. The writing flows with the ease of good conversation, and there’s a tenderness in how Braaksma handles Betsy’s imperfect drafts. Rather than polishing away their rough edges, she honors Betsy’s imaginative phrasing and unfiltered personality. That decision makes the book feel alive, not as a reconstruction of someone lost, but as an ongoing dialogue between two storytellers.

Befriending Betsy will appeal most to readers who love memoirs that bridge art and emotion; fans of The Last Lecture, H is for Hawk, or Anne Lamott’s essays will find the same mix of vulnerability and wit here. Animal lovers, especially those who’ve ever rescued a stray or mourned a pet, will feel seen and understood.

Ultimately, this is a celebration of connection between women, between writer and reader, and between the living and the remembered. It’s beautifully written, genuinely funny, and quietly profound, a fitting tribute to a woman whose gravestone reads, “Sure Had Fun.”