He wasn’t supposed to be there… but the moment our eyes met, he knew me. 🐾💔
Months ago, I’d signed the papers, giving up Diego under pressure. It was meant to be final. Yet there he was—older, thinner, but unmistakably him. My dog, my companion since he was a pup, who used to sleep under my workbench and leap into my truck like he owned it.
The shelter staff doubted me at first. But when I whispered, “Hey, D… it’s me,” his ears perked up, and he pressed against the bars, as if asking for a second chance.
I wasn’t supposed to stay, but I couldn’t walk away. I spent days helping, visiting, proving I was ready. On the fifth day, they said yes—after a few community classes on animal care. I didn’t care about the tired moms or shy teens around me; all I saw was Diego wagging his tail, waiting for his happy ending.
Finally, leash in hand, I walked out with him. That day, I realized I hadn’t just gotten my dog back—I’d found a piece of myself too.
