I didn’t even plan to stop. Food was in the back seat, and my phone’s battery level was only 5% full. But I saw him laying on the curb with his head barely raised, his ribs showing, and one ear bent like it had been torn off a long time ago.
When I got close, he didn’t run away. Like he knew I wasn’t going to hurt him because he just looked at me. He was having trouble standing because his legs were shaking. As soon as I knelt down, he stumbled over and fell into my lap, like we’d known each other for a long time.
It was two weeks ago. It’s funny that I named him Mello because he barely moves. He follows me from room to room and tries to jump on my lap while I work, cook, and even brush my teeth one time. His body needs to be touching me, even though it’s still healing.
The next morning, I took him to the vet. He had mange, a lung infection, two broken ribs, and an X-ray that showed something strange that they couldn’t quite figure out. They gave me medicine and told me it would cost a lot. I didn’t mind. I had to stay with him.
He whines if he can’t reach me when I sleep on the couch now that it’s lower. I don’t mind that I haven’t slept through the night since I brought him home.
The strange part? The vet asked me if I had recently microchipped him when I took him back for a checkup yesterday. I told her no because he was a stray. But she looked again and frowned.
What did she say? “This chip was registered two years ago.” The name on the list is not yours.
That made my mind go crazy when I heard it. How about two years ago? How did he end up on the street, half-starving and by himself if he had been chipped back then? The vet printed out the contact information from the microchip register and gave it to me. I told her I might get in touch with them. I was scared in some ways. If his real family was looking for him, what would happen? What if they had left him? There were a lot of questions.
While Mello was sleeping on my leg the next day, I picked up the phone and called the number. I had a lot of butterflies in my stomach. If someone answered, they would want their dog back.
A woman answered. Her voice was quiet and tired. That’s when I told her who I was and how I had found a dog whose chip matched hers. She didn’t say anything for a long time, and I thought the call had missed. She then said in a low voice, “I lost him… a year ago.”
She said her name was Raya. She told me that when Mello was a baby, her family had saved him. At the time, he was named Rusty. They loved and took care of him. But her husband lost his job, so they had to move in with family who didn’t let pets. While they were rushing to find Rusty a new home, he got out of their yard in the middle of a storm one night. They looked everywhere for him but couldn’t find him.
I could hear the sadness in her voice. “We hoped he would be okay all the time,” Raya said. “I’m so glad you called…” “How is he?”
It was hard to explain how bad things were for Mello still. I did not wish to bother her, but I also could not lie. It took her a moment to speak up before she told me she couldn’t take him back. She said with sadness, “Things have gotten complicated, and we still can’t have pets here.” “Thanks for taking care of him, though.”
When I hung up the phone, I had a strange mix of sadness and guilt. I didn’t have to say goodbye to Mello, on the one hand. He was really mine now. When I thought about how much love he must have had in the past, though, it broke my heart. Someone else had already fought for him.
I saw a new spark in Mello over the next week. He was still having trouble with his injuries, so I had to carefully give him his medicine to keep him comfy. But when I called him by his new name, “Mello!” his tail would wag so fast. He would lay his head on my lap and look up at me like I was the only person in the world if I got on the floor.
I chose to take him for a short walk around the area one afternoon. He was too weak to go for a walk since I found him, but I thought a couple of blocks couldn’t hurt. To protect his weak lungs, I put him on a soft harness. At first, he stumbled around like a young deer. But by the time we got to the corner, he had sniffed every light, mailbox, and pile of leaves.
At that very moment, a little kid ran out from behind a stopped car and started chasing a bright soccer ball. Mello tried to run up to the kid before I could stop him. It made my heart race. Was he okay? Would this scare the kid? But Mello did nothing but wag his tail and lick the child’s hand. The boy laughed, gave Mello a soft pet, and then ran back to his yard. I felt a rush of pride at that very moment. This dog was strong as a rock.
I curled up on the couch next to Mello that night. He was kind of snoring while his head was on my stomach. He looked so calm. That made me think of all the times I felt alone in my room, like at night when my phone screen was the only light on. Now that Mello’s soft breathing was playing in the background at night, things were different.
It had been about a week since Raya had called. She said, “I just wanted to see how he was doing.” “How is Rusty—um, Mello?”
This time she sounded better. I could picture her softly smiling when she heard that Mello was getting better. I promised to send her some pictures. After we hung up, I took a few pictures of Mello lying on the couch with his belly up and his tongue hanging out. He looked like he was in complete comfort. He had changed a lot in just two weeks. His coat was beginning to grow back in some places, and his eyes looked better.
Raya answered almost right away after I sent her the pictures. “He looks so happy, I can’t stand it.” “Thanks.” She then said, “You saved him,” after a moment.
But the truth is that he also saved me. I was in a rut for a while: work, come home, mindlessly scroll through my phone, repeat. The day I found him, even going to the store was a chore and on my list of things to do. Now I knew why I should get up early and go for short walks. I had a reason to be here and laugh. Mello told me every day that life is more than just going through the motions.
After a few days, the strange spot on Mello’s X-ray was found to be an old scar from a bullet that had hit him near the lung. The vet said it was likely from someone who used him as a target. It made my stomach hurt to think about it, but instead of anger, I got a new sense of purpose. I had no idea how much this dog had been through. He still loved me no matter what—he still climbed into my lap whenever he could and trusted that I wouldn’t hurt him.
The hospital bills kept coming in, but I was able to handle them. I stopped spending as much on small things like my daily coffee runs and odd things I bought online, and I didn’t feel bad about it at all. I was aware that each time I skipped a fancy coffee, the money would be used to help Mello get better. And for some reason, that felt a lot better.
When I opened my door in the morning, there was a small package inside. There was a note inside that said, “Thank you for everything you’ve done.” For giving Rusty Mello a second chance. That’s not what it means to us. Raya, love. There was a small plush toy in the shape of a smiling sun under the card. Mello squealed it like it was the most valuable thing in the world and went crazy for it.
As the days turned into weeks, Mello’s power came back. He spent more time in the corner of my bed, so he didn’t sneak onto the couch as much at night. It was no longer possible to see his ribs, and his mange was almost gone. His hair was soft and patchy, but it was getting longer.
Raya texted me to say that she and her husband had moved out of her cousins’ house, found a small apartment that let pets live there, and wanted to know if she could visit Mello. That was the biggest surprise. “We don’t want you to take him away,” she quickly said. “We miss him,” they said.
I wasn’t sure how I felt for a while. I was afraid that Mello would want to visit his old family. Still another part of me thought he was already mine in every way. But after giving it some thought, I decided that it would be best for Mello and me if he could visit the people who used to care for him.
After a few Saturdays, Raya and her husband Niles came over. As soon as they walked into my living room, Mello ran over with his tail wagging like a helicopter blade. Both of their eyes were crying. That moment was so full of happiness. But there was also something strange that happened. When Mello was done kissing them all, he turned to me and pressed against my leg. The message was clear: He thought about them, but he still picked me.
We talked, laughed, and watched Mello chew on the noisy sun toy and then fall asleep on my lap for a couple of hours. I told them they could have him for the weekend, but they said no. “He belongs with you now,” Raya said with tears in her eyes. “We just meant to make sure he was safe and happy.”
It hit me when they left how much healing had taken place in that room for Mello, them, and me. Although I helped him get better, he also showed me a kind of love I had never known before.
Mello turned into a healthy, happy dog over the next few months. He walked with less of a limp, and all of his scars, even the mental ones, seemed to fade. People would smile at him and say nice things about how friendly he was everywhere I went. As I thought about how he used to be that shaking stray by the curb, I couldn’t help but smile.
I looked down one day and saw him again lying on my lap. He had thick, shiny fur, and his eyes were very bright. When he looked up and let out a big sigh of relief, it hit me: how many of us are like Mello at some point? Life has hit us hard, but we desperately want to trust again. How many of us only need one person to care about us, stop, and look at us?
Giving a little love and kindness can sometimes change not only another life, but your own. That’s the most important thing I’ve learned from Mello. You don’t have to be compassionate; it’s a gift that brings people (and dogs) together in the strangest ways.
If you liked this story, please send it to someone who needs to know that second chances do exist. Click the “Like” button if this story moves you. This will help more people learn about Mello’s journey. We never know who is out there, tired and waiting for someone to reach out and help them. They might be just waiting to fall into the right person’s lap.