That day, he wasn’t supposed to be there. Yet the moment our eyes met, he knew me. Instantly. 🐾💔
I had promised myself I wouldn’t cry. Not after everything that had happened. Not in that place, with the smell of disinfectant stinging my nose and the dirt crunching under my boots.
Months earlier, I had signed the release papers. It was supposed to be final—a clean break, no looking back, no more ties. But there he was.
Behind a rusted fence, thinner, older, but still him.
Diego.
The pup I raised into a loyal shadow. The one who used to leap into my truck like it was his kingdom, then curl beneath my workbench while I worked.
At first, the shelter worker didn’t believe me. Men like me—with a record, tattoos, a shaved head—don’t fit the picture of an animal lover. But when I knelt by the fence and whispered, “Hey, D… it’s me, buddy,” his ears perked just like they used to when he heard the crinkle of a cheese wrapper.
And then—without hesitation—he shoved his head between the bars, pressing against my hands as if he’d been waiting to forgive me all along.
I should’ve walked away. Everyone told me I should. But I couldn’t.
That day, he wasn’t supposed to be there. But he was. And he remembered me.
The volunteer asked if I was okay. I wasn’t. I hadn’t been since I gave him up.
They said I couldn’t take him home right away—there were papers, rules, proof of housing. I showed them a photo of my small studio above a garage. Plain but clean. Bowls already waiting. A bed in the corner.
They told me to come back tomorrow.
And I did. Every single day.
I walked other dogs, handed out treats, talked with staff—just to be near him.
On the fifth day, they finally called me in. They agreed to let me adopt him—if I attended community classes on animal care. I didn’t even hesitate.
So I sat in a room with shy kids, weary moms, and one grumpy old man complaining about “modern dog nonsense.” We learned about trauma, behavior, trust. I scribbled notes, all the while picturing Diego’s tail wagging again—tentative but hopeful.
Because that’s how I felt too.
And the day I walked out of that shelter with Diego at my side, papers signed, leash in hand, I realized…
I hadn’t just gotten my dog back.
I had gotten myself back. 🐶❤️