The Eyes that Speak: Annie's Story

I see the eyes, for me they are a window to a dog's soul. I see the pictures and I can see the story.

The eyes never lie. They tell a story before the dog ever makes a sound. Sometimes the story is short and sweet. But most times, like in Annie’s case, it’s a long, painful one, filled with neglect, suffering, and abandonment.

Annie had clearly been through hell. She was found with her puppies, emaciated and broken. There were fresh wounds on her face, where she defended her puppies while living outside. Her babies were adopted quickly, as puppies often are. But Annie? She was left behind, just another pit bull mix in an overcrowded shelter, her life hanging in the balance.

I couldn’t leave her. Even though I knew how hard it would be to place her, I couldn’t look away from those eyes.

We pulled Annie from the kill shelter. But the Annie who came home with us was not the same dog she must have once been. She was done with humans. Done with the world. She had given up.

She wouldn’t eat unless no one was watching, usually in the middle of the night. She flinched at any touch. She didn’t want love; she didn’t trust it. And honestly, I couldn’t blame her.

She tried to run away once. I searched for her for hours. I finally saw her return to the yard on her own, but when she spotted me, she bolted, just far enough that I couldn’t reach her. I waded through mud and crawled through thorny bushes trying to get to her. She kept out of reach standing in freezing water. Eventually, soaked and scratched, I gave up and went back inside.

Minutes later, she was back.

We were able to close the gate before she could slip out again. She froze. And in that moment, I truly didn’t know what she would do. She had every right to lash out. But I looked into her eyes, and I saw it, not aggression, not rage. I saw fear. I saw surrender. I saw a plea: Please don’t hurt me again.

She let me pick her up. She could’ve taken my face off, but she didn’t. She let me carry her.

Annie was heartworm positive and making little to no progress in our care. We were desperate for a miracle.

That’s when Killian’s K9 stepped in. They offered to take her into long-term training, then foster her, charging us nothing beyond the initial work. And for the first time in a very long time, Annie started to change.

She began to trust. To heal. To feel again.

She started becoming a dog again.

Now when I see Annie, I see her eyes again, but they’re different. They’re no longer filled with fear and despair. They’re soft. Trusting. Hopeful. There’s still hurt, buried deep, but the light is back. And that light is everything.

Annie deserves the world. And I will never stop fighting to give it to her.

You’re safe now, sweet girl.