This is Magic.

A name that now feels more like a promise — because from the very beginning, this little soul has been nothing short of a miracle.

We found him just two days before Christmas. He was wandering the cold streets of Louisiana — alone, invisible, unwanted. Just a young pup with black fur, which sadly, was the very thing that marked him for death. Statistically, black dogs are the least likely to be adopted, and most likely to be euthanized. And Magic… was on that list.

He didn’t know that. He just wanted someone to love him.

But fate had a different plan.

We saw him, and something clicked deep inside us — that ache in your chest when you just know someone was meant to find you. We took him in. Small. Cautious. Uncertain of the world — but so, so full of hope.

He fit into our home like he’d always been there. His tail started wagging. His eyes brightened. He had a goofy little hop when he played, and he snuggled with his head tucked under our chin. He made us laugh. He made us feel. That’s what Magic did.

And in return, we promised him something few dogs ever receive: forever.

But love alone can’t shield from pain.

Just a few weeks ago, we noticed something off. A hesitation in his step. A quiet wince. He still tried to play, still wagged his tail — because that’s what the brave ones do. They hide their pain so we don’t worry.

But I worried. I called our vet the moment I saw it.

The first visit led to a second. Then x-rays. Then a phone call I’ll never forget — the kind that makes your body go still even before the words come through the receiver.

Magic has severe hip dysplasia. In both hips. He has almost no cushioning or fluid around the ball joints — no shock absorption, no support. Our sweet baby isn’t even one year old… and he’s already living in pain.

We cried. We got angry. Then we held him — for hours.

Because when someone saves you, you don’t leave them behind.

Since the day Magic came home, he’s reminded us what love looks like. Pure, trusting, unquestioning love. We owe him the same. And so we fight.

The vet bills are already overwhelming — over $800 in just the first couple of visits — and we know more are coming: surgery consultations, therapies, medications, maybe even assistive equipment. We don’t have the answers yet. But we do have resolve.

Because how do you look into the eyes of someone who finally found home, only to watch them fall apart?

You don’t.

You adjust. You adapt. You move mountains if you must. Because they would do the same if they could. And in their own way — they already have.

We didn’t write this to ask for anything. We just needed to say it — out loud, into the world. Maybe someone out there has walked this road. Maybe someone knows the ache of watching a beloved life struggle so young. Maybe someone just needed to be reminded today: that love like this exists.

If you’ve read this far — thank you. Truly.

Magic is not just a dog. He is family. He is light. He is proof that even broken things can shine — if they are loved enough.

And we’ll keep loving him. Fiercely. Softly. Unconditionally.

Because love is not just the easy days.
Love is standing in the storm and holding someone until it passes.
And for Magic — we’ll weather anything.