Where to start, Atila wasn’t an easy dog. I previously had gone to the pound to check on the dogs, and I saw this magnificent creature with a white coat, but after a couple of months, I knew she wasn’t for us. Her energy didn’t match my family’s, and my apartment was not fit for her. From time to time, I think about her and I hope she has found a good home, but Atila was different. He was a quiet dog, friendly, but not too friendly, and I liked that. The first time I noticed him, he was sitting quietly in his kennel while all the other dogs barked and scrambled for attention. He was calm, almost dignified, and I liked that. The sign on his cage said he wasn’t good with children or other dogs, which should have scared me off. But it didn’t. I saw something in him, and we decided to adopt him.

Things went sideways fast. On October 12, we brought him home; on the 13th, I returned him. He had bitten my middle son’s ear when my son leaned in for a hug, and the bleeding was bad. It was my mistake, I ignored the warning on the sign, and I wasn’t going to risk anything happening to my children because of me. But when I walked back through the door without Atila, my children cried and begged me to bring him back. The shelter was closed that Sunday, so Monday morning he was ours again.

Atila was full of trauma. He shook like a blender, licked his fur and blankets until they were soaked, and peed in every corner. He was terrified of the spray bottle I used for my plants. I thought, poor dog, we will never do that to you. And slowly, he began to trust us. One day, he stopped shaking. He stopped licking. He wasn’t afraid of the bottle anymore. He accepted hugs and kisses. He became ours.

He wasn’t perfect. He still lunged at small children and other dogs, but we learned his ways. We kept him safe. And in return, he gave us everything. He became my running partner, my children’s best friend, our companion on trips, even at the beach. He was a gentleman: handsome, loyal, complicated.

We always guessed his first family let kids treat him like a toy and not like a living being, never teaching him how to be safe in a world that scared him. But with us, he belonged.

When my son left for the military, he told me: “Mom, don’t let Atila die before I get back.” And Atila held on. But a few months after my son returned, Atila’s health began to fail. He stopped eating and lost weight fast. He went from 42 pounds to 33 in a month. Even the fancy food I signed up for didn’t tempt him. His eyes looked tired.

At 13 years and about 3 months old, Atila followed me into every room as if asking for help. In the last two weeks, he could barely stand. Today, my children and I had to make the hardest decision of our lives, and we are devastated. He was our first dog, the one we loved fiercely despite the warnings, despite the hard days. He was our companion, our protector, our lesson in patience and loyalty.

Atila wasn’t easy. He wasn’t gentle with the world. But he was ours, and we were his. And letting him go is the hardest thing we’ve ever had to do.