We didn’t go looking for him.
Truth is, we were just out for a walk, minding our business. The world was doing its usual thing—cars buzzing, people staring at their phones, life moving fast. Then out of nowhere, this scruffy brown dog trotted up like he had an appointment with destiny.
He didn’t bark. He didn’t circle. He didn’t even pause to sniff the ground like most dogs would. He walked straight up, stood on two legs, and wrapped his paws around my arm as if I’d been gone a long time and had finally come back home.
And he wouldn’t let go.
Now, I’ve had dogs my whole life. Dogs that fetched, dogs that dug, dogs that chewed the furniture until it looked like driftwood. But I’ve never had a dog hug me like this one. His head rested on my wrist, eyes shut tight, like he was memorizing the feeling of not being alone.
I looked down at him, and it hit me like a freight train: this wasn’t just a hug. It was a plea. A whisper. “Please… be mine.”
I scratched behind his ears. He sighed, the way only a dog who’s been tired for far too long can sigh. And I thought about how many times in my own life I’ve wanted to do the same thing—hold on to someone and say, without words, “Don’t go. Stay.”
We like to believe we rescue dogs. We sign the papers, pay the fees, buy the food, schedule the vet visits. But when you’ve lived with enough of them, you realize it’s the other way around. They rescue us. They remind us to stop, to breathe, to love like it’s the only thing that matters.
I don’t know why he chose me that day. Maybe he smelled the sandwich in my pocket. Maybe he saw the tired look in my eyes. Or maybe—just maybe—he knew I needed that hug as much as he did.
Either way, he’s been with me ever since. Curled up by the door, waiting when I come home. Resting his chin on my knee at dinner. Teaching me every day that love isn’t complicated.
It’s as simple as a hug.
