A Second Chance

The other day, I was walking through the quiet, forgotten streets of Cluj-Napoca, making my way toward the flea market. The morning sun cast golden light over the old buildings, yet the air felt strangely heavy. As I turned a corner, my eyes caught a tall, rusted fence. Beyond it stretched a vast dog shelter, where dozens of restless souls waited, some barking, some jumping, some simply staring at the world beyond their cages.

Something pulled me toward the fence. I stepped closer, my fingers curling around the cold metal bars. Eyes met mine, some filled with hope, others dulled by time and disappointment. A skinny golden retriever trotted in circles, a small terrier pressed itself against the bars, whimpering softly. But then, in the farthest corner, I saw him.

A Cocker Spaniel puppy, curled up in the shadows, as if trying to disappear. His caramel-colored ears drooped, his coat was matted, and his dark eyes held a sorrow so deep it made my chest tighten. I knelt, stretching my hand through the fence. At first, he didn’t move. Seconds felt like minutes. Then, with slow hesitation, he lifted his head and inched forward, pressing his cold nose against my fingertips. That was the moment everything changed.

A week later, together with my mom, we brought him home. We named him Dali. At first, he was silent, cautious, watching the world as if expecting it to hurt him again. But then, little by little, he began to trust. His tail wagged for the first time when I brought him his dinner. A few days later, he curled up beside me on the couch, resting his head on my lap as if he had finally found safety.

One evening, as autumn leaves swirled outside the window, he looked up at me with those same dark eyes, only this time, they weren’t filled with sadness. They were filled with love.

Adopting Dali wasn’t just about giving a home to a shelter dog. It was about finding something I never knew I needed. In saving him, I realized he had saved me and our family too.

Mihály Aliz   XI. H