Gitana

She appeared like a shadow—
    thin,
    trembling,

    a ghost of what life had left her.

Her coat,
    patchy and dull,
    bore the weight of neglect,

    her eyes pools of fear and longing.

That godforsaken rope—
    tied around her neck
    in the tightest knot

    a knot that had never been undone.

How can someone do this?
    I thought,
    as I watched her—
                     from the corner of my eye.
    Cowering,
        tail tucked between her legs,
        avoiding my gaze.

        How can anyone ever do this?

But there was something in her,
    something unbroken
    just...
    beneath the surface,

    a spark buried under the dust
        of too many nights
            spent alone.

I couldn’t look away.

The decision was instinct,
    a pull stronger than thought.

Uber Eats to Petco—
    de-flea,
    de-worm,
    bathe.

What else do we need?
    A harness,
    a leash,
    and a pound of ribeye

    for a soul too long forgotten.

And then…

She walked in step beside me—
    as if she’d known my rhythm all along.

Each Apache `click`
     from my tongue—
     fully understood.

     A language she already knew.

Kindness radiated from her,
    a balm for every creature we met—
                                     canine,
                                     feline,
                                     or human.

The beach dogs welcomed her
    like an old friend,
    and I stood watching,

    amazed at how quickly my world seemed to embrace her.

But what of her name?
    "Straw",
    they called her—

    a name that didn’t fit.

She runs like the wind,
    so Brisa!
    I thought,

    but she looked at me with eyes that said…
                                             try harder.

Dulce, then?
    Those sweet eyes,
    that gentle spirit.

    Dulce must be it.

Not so fast,
    she seemed to say,
    as she danced around me

    with a grace that belied her past.

When the music began,
    she swayed to the rhythm,
    a free spirit…

    not afraid, but alive.

Gitana—
    Gypsy, a wanderer,
    a breed of all breeds,
    a gift I never sought,

    but one that found me all the same.

She’s a dream with paws,
    a reminder
    that sometimes…

    We don’t rescue; we are the rescued.