My husband and I decided to adopt a dog from a shelter. He wanted a purebred dog, believing breed signifies nobility, intelligence, and loyalty.
However, I convinced him to visit a shelter with me, and he reluctantly agreed. Throughout our many years together, Michael has never really opposed me. You might wonder why a dog and not a child? We are quite alone and at a mature age. We both understand the responsibility of domesticating a creature.
Raising a child involves nurturing, educating, and it’s a long-term commitment, whereas with a dog, we’ll be together until the end. This dog would be like a child to us.
At the shelter, a distressing scene unfolded before us. A revolting smell hung in the air, mixing with constant barking and howling that wrenched at the soul. All the dogs, like forlorn children, gazed at us with hope, as if reaching out.
As we walked along the seemingly endless rows of cramped cages, hundreds of eyes fixed on our every move. Why do these creatures suffer so much? It seems to me if there were no abandoned animals, there might be no abandoned children either, and orphanages would become obsolete.
Animals, much like children, require patience, love, care, and they “speak” a language foreign to us—a language we often misunderstand or interpret to our convenience.
Suddenly, Michael stopped dead in his tracks by one of the cages. Inside lay a dog, indifferent to the world with a dull stare. It didn’t react to our sudden presence. It was as if it was both deaf and blind. “Why take this scruffy one? Perhaps a purebred?” the keeper suggested as he hurried towards us.
“He’s been surrendered multiple times and seems to be on a hunger strike against his miserable life,” a young volunteer shared, her voice tinged with sadness. Michael tried to speak to the dog, but it turned away disdainfully, having lost faith in people.
“He’s a good dog, obedient, and although just a mongrel, he’s incredibly loyal, unlike those ‘kings of nature,’” the young woman added, hopeful. She stayed close, observing our every gesture. I reached through the bars to pet the dog. It unexpectedly turned towards me, glanced deeply, and nuzzled my palm. Its nose was slightly wet, and its warm breath tickled my skin.
I laughed. The dog sighed deeply, rose to its paws, and wagged its tail. “A miracle!” the volunteer exclaimed, “You’re the first he’s responded to.” “The vet was preparing to put him down,” the head of the shelter, a generally decent but indifferent man, interjected.
The young woman went on, “You know, he seems to understand everything and sometimes whines softly at night, mourning his fate, even shedding tears.” “Have you seen a dog cry? I have!” she declared bitterly, averting her moist eyes.
You should have seen Michael then. He looked so much like that dog, beaten down by life. I’ll never forget those pleading eyes. We exchanged a long gaze, through which the storm of emotions within both their souls was evident. Despite his betrayal-riddled past, the dog longed for a family! Suddenly, a desire to live awoke in him.
He howled, long and mournfully, releasing all his pain. The entire shelter staff gathered at our enclosure. Many wept openly. Michael knelt before the dog as if begging for humanity’s forgiveness.
“His name is Faithful,” one of the staff members said, handing us the leash. We were escorted out by all the shelter workers. Someone religious discreetly crossed themselves as we left. That cross sealed our bond as a trio eternally.
Michael completely forgot about buying a purebred dog. And anyway, doesn’t “buying a dog” sound strange? Can one really purchase a friend, and is loyalty and love for sale?
The dog trotted alongside us, and Michael let him off the leash, allowing him to fully revel in his newfound freedom. The dog, as if knowing he was with us until the very end, would never shed tears again.
