Yesterday, we walked into the shelter with one clear intention—bring Griselda home.

She was the one we had met. The one we had promised a new beginning.
Our hearts were ready. The adoption forms were filled. Everything felt certain.

But sometimes… love doesn’t follow a plan.
Sometimes, it finds you in the quiet corners when you least expect it.

As we passed through the hallway, something caught our eye—an employee cradling a tiny, trembling dog. Barely four pounds.
She looked fragile, lost, and entirely out of place in a world that hadn’t been kind.

“What’s her story?” we asked.

“She’s too terrified to be in the main kennels,” they replied gently. “Owner surrender. Five years old. She’s shutting down.”

They led us to her—hidden in a lonely metal crate, trying to disappear into the shadows.
She shook like a leaf in winter, pressed against the farthest edge.
Her eyes met ours, full of fear… and hope.

Like she was asking without words:
“Do I matter? Will someone see me this time?”

In that moment, we knew.

There are souls you can’t unsee.
There are stories that choose you.
She was one of them.

Her name? Pookie.

We didn’t change it.
It was soft. It was sweet.
It was hers.

Today, Pookie is safe.

No more cold metal crates. No more silent crying.
She will be held, heard, and loved—every single day.

Yesterday, we came for one.
We left with two.

Griselda.
Pookie.
Both meant to be.

And their story doesn’t end here.

Because for every Griselda and Pookie, there are more still waiting.
Hiding in corners. Trembling in silence.
Asking the same silent question:
“Will someone see me?”

To them, we say:
We see you.
We’re coming.
You matter.