It was January 10th, 2018, and my dad texted me a photo of a small, clearly disheveled dog. I asked whom it belonged to, and he explained to me that it had walked into a trap set by animal control by his place of work. Someone in the area had lost a dog, and the trap was intended for their pet, but, instead, this tiny, hungry puppy walked in.
The dog had a broken leg, and he looked starved. Unsure of what to do, my dad called animal control, but, upon further research, he discovered that if no one would claim the dog, he would soon be sent to a kill shelter.
We were never a family of animal lovers, but we aren't heartless. Once animal control arrived, my dad told them that the dog had run away. Evidently, they had a hard time believing that a three-legged chihuahua somehow escaped from his trap and found a way through the thick layer of snow that covered the ground.
Nonetheless, they drove off, and my dad took the puppy out of his hiding spot. The dog wasn't making any noise — he just quietly and gratefully ate the food that we put in front of him.
I had never had a real pet before, and, despite the fact that I had college friends visiting from various states, I spent the entire day with the puppy. I found solace in brushing him as he slept, and I instantly felt deeply connected to him. I whispered to him, assuring him that he would be okay, whether or not he would end up staying with me.
I have struggled with anxiety for many years, and I saw myself in the puppy. He was exhausted from fighting everyday, but he persisted nonetheless. He held on for that sliver of hope — and his journey led to me. I knew that I had to do something important — I needed him as much as he needed me.
My mom, who hates animals, wouldn't let him inside the house, so he stayed at my dad's workplace for the night. The next day, he was still quiet but was much more active than he had been the previous day. As we petted him, we saw the hint of a smile, but we knew that he wasn't totally comfortable with us yet.
We booked him his first veterinary appointment, and the vet said the puppy had rocks and worms in his stomach, since that was all he could find to eat when he was alone. The vet also told us that the scars on the puppy's legs indicated that he might have had a history as a bait dog: that is, is a small dog they throw into the ring at dog fights to get the bigger dogs excited.
We knew that he needed a loving home, but we didn't know if we could provide that for him. We had never had a pet before, so we didn't really know what to do. Eventually, my mom let him in the house under the condition that he stay in the basement.
I spent the next few days and nights with him downstairs. He curled up next to the space heater and shut his eyes. That was the first time I saw him smile.
After a couple weeks, my family became more comfortable with him. He walked around upstairs but wasn't allowed on the couch. Little by little, though, every rule that we set for him seemed to be broken.
Now, even though we never would have expected it, he's an honorary member of our family.
We named him Luca, and he's my best friend.