Happy Anniversary, Nola!
Today marks the three-year anniversary of the day we found each other. 1,095 days.
That’s at least 1,000 days you probably never would have seen otherwise. Starving, abused, and ridden with parasites, you would not have made it much longer.
You were living on borrowed time.
Three years ago, today, I rescued you from that house, that house where you only knew fear and pain for the first six months of your life.
It was entirely by chance that our paths even crossed at all. My mom and I were, funnily enough, following another dog we had seen darting across the highway in an attempt to rescue it.
Truthfully, I have never been much of a believer in fate, but there is no doubt in my mind that finding you was meant to be.
As the dog who absolutely refused to let us rescue him, despite our offering of peanut butter, darted between two parked cars outside of a run-down house in a rural neighborhood, you darted out. I don’t know how you chewed through the rope attached to the chunk of metal around your neck that was practically heavier than you were, but your timing was impeccable.
Without even waiting to get permission from my mom, I scooped you up and put you in our car. There was no way I was going to leave you there. You desperately needed love and I couldn’t turn away.
Our initial plan to find a new home for you didn’t last long; you have Dad to thank for that. After living with you for several days, the extent of your abuse became evident. There was no way we could, in good conscience, entrust your care and rehabilitation to anyone else.
You almost never left my side. You slept underneath of my bed. When I walked into a different room, you dragged your dog bed with you and followed me.
You were the cutest darn thing I had ever laid eyes on. Seriously, you are definitely cuter than any of my hypothetical future children.
You had been through hell and back, so, it was only fitting that we name you Nola. “Trap Queen” had just become popular and I am literally thankful every single day that my mom vetoed naming you Fetty.
You became my literal child. No joke, I have multiple lengthy videos of you sleeping and I still spend more time with you on FaceTime than I do my human family members. Since I have been away at college, I have honestly cried about how much I love you to my friends more times than I’m comfortable admitting.
You could set the world on fire and I would still think you’re the faultless angel that you are.
Yes, it’s true: I rescued you. But you also rescued me.
I was coming out of my own manipulative, controlling, and emotionally abusive relationship. My mental and emotional health was in shambles. While I didn’t recognize it at the time, we had an instant bond that is impossible to express or explain.
Our lives and experiences paralleled in a way that was comforting and therapeutic.
We healed together.
You helped me open back up and showed me what real love was, something I didn’t even know I needed.
When I take naps, you lay next to me. Granted, you always get to be the little spoon when we cuddle, but I can learn to live with that.
When I had my foot surgery last summer, you slept by my side and were my constant companion.
Just being around you has an immediate, positive impact on my wellbeing.
The amount of joy you bring to my life is irreplaceable and astounding. I can never, ever thank you enough for the immense gift you have given me. A lifetime of milk bones could never come close to repaying you for everything you have brought to my life.
You rescued me when I didn’t even know I needed to be rescued.
When I tell people our story, they say how lucky you are that I found you. But in reality, I am the lucky one.
So, happy three years to us, honey! We’ve truly made it to the other side and there’s nothing we can’t accomplish or overcome.
