“Forgive Me, Mommy: A Dog’s Letter From the Side of the Road”

I stayed right where you left me, Mommy—right there on the side of the road, for two whole days. I curled up tight and tried to be brave, even though the loud cars scared me and the ground was cold. I didn’t move, not even when people passed by or when the wind blew hard. I knew you must have had a good reason for stopping the car and driving away without me. I believed, deep in my heart, that you were coming back.

Last night, a woman stopped her car and walked up to me. She knelt down gently and offered me some food. I turned my head away—I wasn’t hungry for anything but your voice. She tried again and said she had a warm place where I could rest, but I refused. I tried to tell her I was waiting for you. That this spot by the road wasn’t just a ditch—it was the last place we were together.

She didn’t understand. She reached out with a leash and tried to take me with her. I panicked. I growled and cried. I bit her in fear, not out of hate, and I peed on myself because I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want her to take me away from where I knew you’d return. But she wouldn’t stop. She said I couldn’t stay there any longer. I was taken away against my will, carried into a car that wasn’t yours.

At her house, everything felt wrong. I cried all night and couldn’t stop trembling. I threw up from nerves and confusion. I scratched at the door, hoping to find my way back to you. I was so scared you’d think I gave up on you, that I walked away first. I want you to know, I would never do that. Not ever. I waited as long as I could. I still believe you’ll come find me. You love me, right, Mommy?

Today I ate a little because my belly hurt too much to ignore. I laid down on a soft bed, and for a second I forgot to be scared. My tail wagged a little bit by accident. She’s kind, this lady. She speaks softly and calls me “Savannah.” But Mommy, I already have a name—the one you gave me. When you come to get me, can you tell her what it is? She’ll understand, I know she will.

She says I can stay forever if I want. She gives me hugs and whispers that I’m safe now. But I’m not sure yet. Because I’m still waiting on you. I still don’t know why you left me. Maybe you had something important to do. Maybe you got lost. It’s okay. I forgive you. I just need you to come back and explain everything, so I can stop looking for you every time I hear a car door slam.

I’ll keep waiting, just a little longer. But if you’re not coming, please tell her. Please tell her I’m allowed to love her too. Because my heart is tired, and even though I’m trying to be brave, all I want is to belong again. To be someone’s dog. To be held and called by my real name. But deep down, Mommy… I still hope you’re coming back.