“This isn’t the first time my gut has completely ignored logic.”
I’ve noticed something about myself. Actually…My husband has noticed it too.
Whenever my gut tells me something…The discussion is basically over.
Not in a dramatic way. More in a, “Well… I guess we’re doing this then.” Kind of way.
Three years ago, it happened with Rio. I saw one photo. One.
And immediately thought, “That’s our dog.” I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t know him. Didn’t know his story. I just knew. Fast forward three years…Same website. Different dog. This time, it was Dan. Born in Turkey. A street dog.
His life started after the devastating earthquakes, and he spent about a year surviving on his own before being rescued. Then one day… There he was. On my screen. Again. One photo. One feeling.
“Yep… that’s our dog.”
Looking back… I’m not entirely sure Hans had much of a vote. Poor guy. I probably presented it as a conversation. It was not. It was more of a PowerPoint presentation with only one possible outcome.
Slide 1: Meet Dan.
Slide 2: We’re getting Dan.
Questions?
People sometimes ask me why. Why another rescue? Why take on another responsibility? Honestly…
I ask myself the same question. Because this isn’t the first time. Or the second. If Hans and I had unlimited space…our house would probably look less like a family home and more like a rehabilitation centre for anything with a heartbeat.
Dogs.
People.
Probably the occasional confused hedgehog.
There’s something in both of us that struggles to walk away when someone, or something, needs a second chance. Maybe it comes from the years we spent living abroad. When home wasn’t around the corner. When family birthdays happened without us. When Christmas sometimes felt just a little quieter. Those years taught us something. You never forget the people who made you feel less alone. The ones who invited you over for dinner. Who made room at their table. Who treated you like family when your own family was thousands of miles away. Maybe that’s why, these days… I secretly love a full dinner table.
Kids.
Dogs.
Friends.
Too much food.
Too much laughter.
That’s home to me.
Dan found exactly that. A family. A warm bed. A brother called Rio. And, unfortunately…A garden. Now here’s the thing. Every rescue comes with a little backpack. Some carry fear. Some carry anxiety. Dan? Dan carries a shovel. Our beautiful front garden… The one Hans is ridiculously proud of. Has become an archaeological excavation site. Every single day.
Dan digs. Then he buries something. A bone. A toy. A stick. A leaf. Probably my car keys at some point. Then he walks away. Five minutes later… Rio digs everything back up. And Dan? Doesn’t care. Not even a little. No growling. No arguing. No, “Excuse me, I was saving that.”
Nothing.
Apparently burying things is more important than owning them. Meanwhile, I see Hans standing at the window. Hands on hips. Staring at yet another crater. Trying to understand the logic. I can literally hear his brain asking,
“How…?”
“Why…?”
“What exactly are we trying to achieve here?”
The answer is simple.
Nothing.
Dan isn’t trying to improve the garden. He’s simply doing what makes sense to him. And maybe… That’s exactly why I loved him from the moment I saw that first photo. Because just like me…He doesn’t overthink. He follows his instincts. Mine happened to bring home another rescue dog.
His happen to destroy the flower beds.
The Woman Behind the Jersey 