Staring through the steel bars of a small enclosure, I anxiously hopped from foot to foot. I tried to focus on the words spoken by the staff member but my attention continuously wandered to the sad dog who was lying still on cold floor. It was as if our gaze made him shrink into himself. His brindle fur was ungroomed, his tail nervously tucked between his back legs. My mother nudged my arm and told me to concentrate. I was supposed to be in charge here, so I listened.

I had assumed I knew what was in store for me at the shelter, but as I stood in front of the cage, I found myself cringing from the loud barking, the medicinal smell, and the overall depressing vibe.

I had found Dexter’s name on a list for euthanization on a private social media account. Euthanasia wasn’t an aspect of the shelter that the staff wanted to advertise. There were 10 other dogs on the list and hundreds that would someday find their way onto it. Yet, I chose Dexter. He was the special one. He was going to live. 

However, being at the shelter and walking by the cages of hundreds of other dogs was heartbreaking. How unfair was it that I’d be taking Dexter home, while the other dogs would remain here and suffer? I second guessed my decision and briskly walked down the aisle looking into the enclosures. Could I tell which dog needed me the most? Which one I could save without it being unfair? I couldn’t. Big or small, quiet or loud, they all needed me. Every dog deserved a better life. Shoulders slumped, I made my way back to Dexter. Here I was trying to commit an act of kindness, and yet I had never felt more cruel in my life.

Crouching by his cage, my arm extended through the cold isolating bars, I waited for Dexter to respond to my presence. It took five minutes. He was depressed – you could see it in his eyes. He’d been here too long. I was gently stroking Dexter through the wretched bars when I heard something that made my blood boil. “I wouldn’t recommend him as a family dog. He’s aggressive,” the lady said. Before my mom could respond, I shook my head frantically and told the obnoxious woman that I would decide that for myself. With a dramatic sigh from the wicked witch and the clanking of keys, the cage door was opened. Dexter lunged out, tail wagging and ears pricked. He was like a whole new dog. We played with him for a long time, and he was not aggressive once. I was confident he was the one.

We had arrived as a family of two and left as a family of three. Despite my previous negative thoughts about leaving hundreds of dogs behind, I was content with what I had done. I knew I could not change the world by saving one dog, but for Dexter, his world had changed forever.