During my freshman year of college, out of the blue, my mom asked if I wanted a dog that her ex-boyfriend no longer wanted.

My initial reaction? I was pissed.

When we first moved into that house 5 years prior, we had to give away all three of our cats as a caveat for moving into a bigger home. My parents thought the 3 cats would get the house too messy by scratching up the furniture and tracking hair everywhere.

As the quiet one in the family, I relied on our furry family members whenever I got lonely and needed to escape. The animals were my escape. Losing them cut out a vital part of who I was and how I communicated my emotions.

Two of our cats (named Hamster and Tiger) were cats I raised as kittens, so I was devastated when I had to say goodbye to my best friends.

After the pain of losing Hamster and Tiger withered, suddenly I realized that my mom was willing to break one of her cardinal house rules (no pets) for this particular doggo.

”What’s his name?”
”Oso. He’s a Pomeranian Spaniel mix.”
”Why are they giving him away?”
”The original owner was going to euthanize him because his leg was limping. So my bf took him in, but now Oso is too high maintenance for him.”

At the time, I was 20 years old and I wasn’t prepared to take care of a puppy given my hectic work and school schedule. I had finally crawled out of a 5-year depression that I was stuck in throughout high school, and I was ready to take on new opportunities, move to a new city, and meet new people. A new puppy would mean added responsibilities that I wasn’t prepared to take on.

”I don’t know if we’ll keep him, but just bring him home so we can see what he’s like.”