The dog was small—barely the size of an adult cat. His owner had abandoned him. He hadn’t eaten in days. He just lay there, nailed to the ground, half-buried in dirt in a garbage dump on the outskirts of the city. Where no one cared if a little dog was hiding from the world.
People say dogs always have hope. But sometimes… even a dog gives up.
The girl who eventually found him was named Twilight. She was an animal rights activist and a volunteer. She had long known that the shelters were full. The free ones were overcrowded, and the paid ones… well, they were overflowing with animals no one wanted anymore.
That morning, a friend called:
— Have you heard about that little dog, Twilight? They say she’s wandering around the landfill. Well… she just lies there. She won’t come to anyone. She’s lying in the dirt.
— I know, Laci… — Hannah’s voice was low. — But where should I take her? I already have four rescued dogs at home. The hospital is full, and so is the temporary shelter.
— Are you going to let her die there? — the boy on the other end asked. There was no accusation in his voice. Just sadness.
Half an hour later, Hannah parked at the edge of the landfill. The wind stirred the dust around her feet as she stumbled forward, the smell of burning choking her nose. All around, birds and the occasional rat squeaked between the trash bags.
Then she saw her.
A small brown-black spot. A motionless body, half-buried in the dirt.
— Is it you? — Are you my little one… my little one?
The dog didn’t move. She didn’t lift her eyes. She didn’t run, didn’t growl. She just lay there.
Many days passed before Twilight earned his trust. She came every day, bringing him water, sausages, canned food. At first, she placed the food on the edge of the pit, watching from a distance. On the first day, the dog didn’t eat. On the second day, he didn’t either. On the third day, he looked at the food. On the fourth day, he took it.
On the fifth day, he didn’t move when Hannah approached.
“You’re a good boy,” she said gently. “I know you don’t trust us humans. But I won’t leave you.”
When she finally picked him up, she was horrified.
“Oh God…” she whispered. “You’re as light as a dove…”
The dog was all skin and bones. His fur was ragged, and his smell was sharp. It was impossible to tell if it was a boy or a girl. He didn’t move. He let the girl lift him.
“I’ll name you…” Hannah thought. “Be… Poodle.”
The little dog didn’t respond.
“Just in time. Right?” she said. “In time, you’ll trust me again.”
The doctor at the clinic just shook his head.
— Twilight, he… this animal hasn’t been eating properly for weeks. Look at his fur. His skin is matted. No wonder it hurts him every time he moves.
— Can we euthanize him by shaving it all off?
— Yes. But first… I need to examine him. It might already be too late.
Twilight gently stroked the dog’s head as the doctor administered the anesthetic.
— You came from hell, but something new begins now. I promise.
As the fur fell off, Pooch finally became visible. A tiny, little dog, around five years old. Thin, but full of life. The doctor shook his head again.
— Twelve teeth need to be removed.
— Let’s do it — Twilight nodded. — Everything. As long as there’s hope, we fight.
After the tooth extractions came the injections. Her skin was inflamed from allergies. Antibiotics, painkillers, vitamins. And of course, sterilization and neutering, like with all rescued dogs.
Pötyi still didn’t bark. Didn’t play. He just watched.
But he no longer wanted to sink into the ground. He no longer waited to die.
He followed Twilight’s movements.
And that meant something.