Auggie

When I first met Auggie, he was twelve weeks old — small, soft, confident and calm despite the uncertainty that comes from a world harsher than any puppy should know. He had been rescued from a puppy mill along with his siblings. I fell in love with his sister, but when I reached out, she’d been adopted. I looking for a service dog for my ADHD and other suspected psychiatric disorders, as well as arthritis due to old injuries. I planned on going to a breeder instead, but my sister in law insisted I meet him.

When they brought Auggie out, he all but ignored me in all honesty, but I fell. It wasn’t an instant connection. It wasn’t fireworks. It was warm and safe. That’s what I needed.

I took him home that same day. My first dog. My first step into a kind of love that demanded patience, understanding, and healing from both sides. We learned together,  how to trust, how to listen, how to breathe again.

Not long after, my life changed suddenly. I was forced to move and change jobs for my safety, everything familiar vanished almost overnight. But Auggie didn’t care where we went. Whether it was a big apartment all to ourselves with my sweet kitten, the backseat of my car, or student housing with two other roommates after I was forced to give up my kitty who was his best friend… he’d look up at me with that same love in his eyes. As long as we’re together, we’re okay.

Over time, Auggie grew into more than just my dog, he became my service partner, my lifeline. His work isn’t just obedience or training; it’s connection. When my chest tightens and my thoughts spiral, he’s there pressing his body against mine, grounding me with deep pressure therapy (DPT) or leaning his chin into my lap (LPT) until the world slows down again.

He opens doors for me, literally and metaphorically. With a gentle tug, he makes space for me to breathe, to exist in moments that might otherwise shut me out. When the weight that inevitably comes with surviving domestic violence crushes me, he nudges my hands, interrupts the crying before it takes me under. Or sometimes he just lays with me and rides the waves. When my mind fractures into panic or pain, his behavior interruptions pull me back to safety.

No matter where we’ve gone, Auggie has carried joy like a light in his chest. He greets every day with a wag, every stranger with a sniff and a snuggle, every challenge with a quiet resilience that humbles me. He has seen me at my lowest, shaking, crying, lost — and treated me with nothing but patience and love.

He doesn’t know that he saved me more than once. He doesn’t know that his steady breathing has been the only sound that could calm my own. He just knows that he loves his mommy and that I love him.

Auggie was born into darkness, and I was plunged into it. But we found each other. And together, we learned how to live again not just survive.

Despite all the pressure on him, my favorite moments with Auggie are when it’s just me and him. A run in the early morning of fall where the cold bites at my face and fingers; mid winter hikes where he leaves trails in the snow with his tongue; summers in the pool with him begging to chase the Wubba into the water one more time; nights in my room training while he snorts and bounces in excitement.

I owe him everything, and he asks for nothing.