When you lose your home, people assume you’ve reached your lowest point.
or your occupation.
or your relatives.
For me, though, it was realizing that it had been two weeks since I had heard my own name. Not once.
Except for him—Bixby, my dog.
Well, definitely not in words.
However, the way he gazed at me each morning as though I were still important.
Like, whatever happened, I was still his person.
We’ve experienced everything: being kicked out of shelters due to “no pets,” being evicted, and spending nights curled up in alleys with nothing but a tarp and one another. He never ran away. When I returned with even half a sandwich, he never stopped wagging that little crooked tail.
I went two days without eating once. A sausage biscuit was thrown to us from a car window.
Bixby refused to touch his portion when I divided it evenly.
He simply used his nose to shove it in my direction.
I can wait, I thought as I sat there staring. You consume food.
I was devastated by that.
I began writing the sign merely to explain, not to plead. because it’s not usually understood.
They notice the soiled hoodie, the beard, and the grime.
However, they fail to notice him. or his assistance to me.
Then, last week, as I was getting ready to switch locations, this drab woman stopped in front of us.
After glancing at Bixby and then at me, she uttered five words that initially seemed unreal:
“We have been trying to find you.”
She had the wrong person, in my opinion. Then she took a fuzzy, distant picture of Bixby and me out of her bag. Weeks prior, a local outreach team that collaborates with animal hospitals and transitional housing received it after a social worker snapped it.
“My name is Jen,” she said. “We have a space. Dog-friendly. Are you intrigued?
At first, I didn’t even respond. simply gazed.
Suitable for dogs?
Bixby and a bed?
I had heard “no” so often that I had forgotten what it felt like to say “yes.”
She must have noticed my hesitancy because she knelt down, gave Bixby a back scratch, and remarked, “You kept him warm.” Let us help you in the same way.
Five days have passed since then.
We currently live in a halfway house in a little room. Not very fancy. Only a common bathroom, a bed, and a small refrigerator.
It’s warm, though.
It’s secure.
And we own it.
On the first night, they bathed Bixby. A vet check. He hid a brand-new, noisy toy under the pillow right away, treating it like a precious gem.
They provided me with food, clean clothes, and a phone so I could contact my sister.
Talk for the first time in more than a year.
Jen stopped by yesterday and gave me a form.
working part-time. Nearby is a warehouse. Experience is not required. weekly compensation. If I want it, it’s mine, she said.
Yes, I do.
Not for me alone.
For us.
Because Bixby stayed even though he didn’t ask for any of this. through everything.
This is what I’ve discovered:
Sometimes what wears you down isn’t the weather, hunger, or even the looks.
It’s the quiet.
the sensation that you are no longer there.
But that quiet can be broken with just five words and one devoted dog.
“We have been trying to find you.”
If you’ve ever questioned if modest acts of kindness count, the answer is yes.
If you have ever wondered if dogs are capable of understanding love, the answer is yes.
And don’t let go if you’re fortunate enough to have someone at your side when all else fails.
If you support second chances for both people and animals, please share this. Like it if you know that words cannot express loyalty.