Such a good boy
How my rescue dog, Pumpkin, rescued me right back
I was tired of feeling lonely. After ending the last in a series of bad relationships in 2014, I needed someone stable in my life. Someone loyal. I decided to adopt a rescue dog. Browsing the adoption sites, one profile stood out. This dog was a two-year-old black lab — and he had the sweetest face I’d ever seen. I wasn’t given much information about him, other than that he was very high-energy and had been abandoned by his previous owners. I also knew that black dogs are less likely to be adopted, and that made me even more determined to make him mine. A few weeks later, I waited outside my apartment for the pup to arrive. As he rounded the corner, I could see him weaving through sidewalk crowds, his leash getting tangled and his big eyes darting around with curiosity. I was immediately surrounded in a chaotic hurricane of wet dog kisses. My new best friend. This was Pumpkin.
The first few years were golden, especially since I was able to share care duties with a partner I’d met shortly after adopting him. That partner? Not so loyal. We split, and I was crushed. My mental health plummeted to an all-time low. I had a breakdown, I lost my job. I became estranged from my family. It was a really hard time for me, and I often wanted to give up.
But, even on my worst days, the urge I felt to take care of this living creature was what kept me alive. He would be my warm cuddle comfort at night and my sharp-toothed taskmaster in the morning. Pumpkin became my reason to get out of bed. I’d barely have enough time to brew a morning coffee before he gave me my first set of “I need a walk” barks. Although I occasionally resented them in the moment, our daily strolls became an integral part of my recovery. The fresh air, sunshine and tether to this big hairy beast were exactly what I needed. Slowly, with Pumpkin’s help, I began to find moments of joy again.
As I became healthier, I experienced a newfound sense of gratitude for being alive. I was ready to start living instead of just existing. For me, that meant coming out as transgender and pursuing a medical transition. In 2019, with Pumpkin by my side, my doctors and I agreed that I was in a good place. Despite some roadblocks, it has been a beautiful experience. I had top surgery a few weeks before Toronto went into its first lockdown. Once again, Pumpkin was there to keep me focused on my recovery. Ten days after my surgery, I bundled up in my parka and tied his leash to my waist. We took baby steps down my street, our tracks in the snow behind us — proof that I was alive and that we were here, together.
As I continue to build my new life, Pumpkin is my daily reminder of why I can never abandon myself. His chin has begun to show flecks of grey hair, but I will cherish every year, every moment we have left. Because I didn’t save him — he saved me.