Who Rescued Who?

The animal rescues in the city were extremely particular. It seemed that if you were not a homeowner, a couple, or had a fenced-in backyard it was nearly impossible to be a forever home to any of their sweet, furry loves. I was in my late twenties with an excruciating love for animals developed in childhood, lived with two roommates in a townhouse without a fenced-in yard, and never owned any pets though I always had the desire.

Not to mention the crippling anxiety I was battling due to a chaotic two-years-long situationship and being fed up trying to love someone who didn’t want to love me back. I was ready to join the “adopt don’t shop” tribe and officially become a fur mom. I submitted interest forms to at least three rescue agencies and got my hopes up with several different pups before my heart collapsed into complete hopelessness. I wanted to believe that it would all work out for the right one, but defeat destroyed any positive thoughts that attempted to soothe my soul.

After work one night, six weeks since the beginning of my adoption search and experiencing the summation of utter rejection, I aimlessly perused the pets section of a popular online classifieds site. Gazing at all the different animals for sale, I wondered if they were legitimate. My heart ached for all of them and I wished I could be their savior.

Then I saw her. A posting for a black and tan baby girl with perfectly placed eyebrows who looked a lot like my roommate’s mini dachshund with longer legs. She had the absolute sweetest face, a nose ideal for boops, and eyes that could melt Antarctica in an instant. I text the number in the ad and convinced myself not to expect a response. After all, the owner was trying to rehome her ASAP and it had been a couple hours since the post was published so I was sure she was going to someone else.

Not even one minute after my brain went into self-preservation mode, I heard my text notification. She was available and I could pick her up in the morning; I could not believe my eyes. Was I finally going to be a fur mom? Had the stars finally aligned only for my body to burst from proper excitement? This feeling was no comparison to the anticipation felt the night before your first day of school as a kid. No, this was way better.

Meeting her settled my spirit in only a way that a divine connection could. She was gentle, timid, and needed me. Originally rescued by local animal control at ten months old, her paperwork suggested that she unfortunately suffered mistreatment, neglect, and abuse. I felt honored that the universe entrusted me to turn that experience around and give her the best life she’s ever had. Between the vet and pet store, I spent over four figures on Chloe that day and every penny was worth it.

Chloe is now a six-year-old happy girl with a two-year-old brother, Jax, who we rescued at four months old. She is a sweetheart, an amazing big sister, and enjoys having every ounce of your attention every second of the day. Some of her favorite things are blankets, food, and playing with Jax. Her talents include converting self-proclaimed anti-dog people into dog lovers, holding the house record in the staring contest, and taking down an army with her ice-continent-melting eyes to protect Jax.

Four years later: the anxiety I experienced prior to Chloe has virtually disappeared, I’m generally happier on a daily basis, my aforementioned situationship has evolved into a healthy and thriving relationship, and I am forever grateful for this experience of being her fur mama. Often I wonder who really rescued who?