Monday, February 15, 2010

Tilda.

So, that dog of mine. She's amazing. She's the reason I wake up, the reason I go outside, the reason I don't just stay in bed and play PSP while waiting for my retirement. Mathilda came to me from a home for abused animals, after having spent three years living in a small concrete cage, beaten, malnourished and alone. The first time I met her she attacked and bit me in the face. If she had been younger and faster I probably would've lost an eye, but all I got was a bloody nose and lip. It took her two weeks to trust me enough to allow me to touch her. After three weeks she never left my side when we went out. A month and she's getting protective of me. Now, she's the most loyal and wonderful companion one could imagine. She's still making progress every day and it's so awesome to see her happy.

I was supposed to take care of her for two weeks. I never returned her to the shelter. They even gave her to me for free, telling me they'd never seen her as content as she was with me, and that they'd rather have her stay with me and lose money than have her back. I didn't choose her, she chose me. That's the only time anyone has ever chosen me.

5 comments:

Curse said...

Det där var fint. Och gör lite ont också på något sätt.

StigmataHandjob said...

Vi har räddat varandra, hon och jag. Det var väl öööödet.

Curse said...

Ibland träffar till och med det där halvblinda ödet rätt.

StigmataHandjob said...

Man kan inte misslyckas med allt hur mycket man än försöker.

vredens barn said...

Shit. Det här fick mig att börja gråta. Fina tårar, men likväl tårar. Det är så amazing, att vara den där varelsens utvalda och älskade.