I wasn’t even going to stop. There was groceries in the back seat and my phone was at 5%. But I saw him lying on the side of the road, head barely raised, ribs visible, one ear bent as if it had been torn long ago.
He didn’t run away when I approached. He just stared at me, as if he already knew I wouldn’t hurt him. His legs shook as he tried to stand up, and I swear, as soon as I ducked down, he immediately went limp and collapsed into my lap like we’d known each other forever.
That was a fortnight ago. I named him Mello, though his vigour leaves a lot to be desired. He follows me from room to room, tries to jump into my lap when I’m working, cooking, even once when I was brushing my teeth. It doesn’t matter that his body is still healing – he needs to touch me.
The next morning I took him to the vet. He had shingles, a lung infection, two cracked ribs, and something weird on the x-ray that they couldn’t identify. They gave me medication and warned me it would be expensive. I didn’t really care. I just couldn’t keep it.
Now I sleep on the couch because he’s lower and he whimpers if I’m out of reach. I haven’t had a single night’s sleep since I brought him home, but I’m not even embarrassed by it.
What’s the weirdest part? I took him in for a checkup yesterday, and the vet asked if I had chipped him recently. I replied that I hadn’t – he was a stray. But she scanned him again and frowned.
She said: “This chip was registered two years ago. And the name on the list…is not yours.”
When I heard that, my brain started spinning. Two years ago? If he was chipped then, how did he end up on the streets, half-starved and alone? The vet gave me a printout of the contact information from the microchip registration, and I told her I’d think about whether to contact her. Part of me was afraid. What if his birth family was looking for him? What if they abandoned him? The questions were endless.
The next day, while Mello napped on my leg, I picked up my phone and dialled a number. I felt like I had a hundred butterflies fluttering in my stomach. What if someone answered, demanding the dog back?
A woman answered. Her voice sounded tired but calm. I explained who I was and how I had found a dog that matched the chip registered in her name. She was silent for a long time, and I was beginning to think the call had been cut off. Then she said quietly: ‘I lost it…a year ago.’
She introduced herself as Raya. She told me how her family had rescued Mello, whose name at the time was Rusty, when he was just a puppy. They loved him and took care of him. But then her husband lost his job and they had to move in with relatives who didn’t allow pets. They tried to find a new home for Rusty, but one night he escaped from their yard during a downpour. They looked everywhere for him but never found him.
I heard the sorrow in her voice. ‘We never stopped hoping he would be okay,’ Raya said. ‘I’m so glad you called… How is he?’
It was hard to explain how serious Mello’s condition was. I didn’t want to worry her, but I couldn’t lie to her either. She was quiet for a few seconds before she said she wasn’t able to take him back. ‘Things have gotten complicated,’ she said sadly, “and we still can’t have pets here. But… thank you for taking care of him.”
As I hung up the phone, I felt a strange mixture of relief and guilt. On the one hand, I didn’t have to say goodbye to Mello. He was mine now, for real. But on the other hand, I cringed, thinking about how much love he must have already had, how someone else was already fighting for him.
Over the next week, I noticed a new spark in Mello. He was still struggling with his injuries, and I had to carefully choose his medications to keep him comfortable. But when I called his new name – ‘Mello!’ – his tail would start wagging rapidly. If I sat down on the floor, he would immediately be beside me, put his head in my lap and look up as if I was the only person in the world.
One afternoon I decided to take him out for a short walk around the neighbourhood. He had never taken a walk since I found him – he was too weak – so I figured a couple of blocks wouldn’t hurt. I strapped him into a padded harness to protect his tender ribs. At first he wobbled like a newborn fawn. But by the time we reached the corner, he was sniffing every letterbox, leaf pile and lamppost.
Suddenly a small child ran out from behind a parked car, chasing a brightly coloured football. Before I could stop Mello, he tried to run up and greet the child. My heart snapped: would he be okay? Wouldn’t it scare the baby? But Mello only wagged his tail and licked the baby’s hand. The boy giggled, gently stroked Mello, and then ran back into his yard. At that moment, I felt a surge of pride. Nothing could break this dog’s spirit.