12/01/2025
It started with a quiet afternoon and ended in chaos. My sister heard shouting outside and froze when she looked through the window. The neighbor’s pit bull had Freddy’s head trapped in her jaws, tugging him against the iron fence. Blood stained the ground, and panic rose in her throat.
I shouted over the phone not to go near with her hands but to grab the garden hose. She sprayed water straight into the dog’s face until it finally let go. Freddy, wounded and terrified, broke free and vanished down the street.
I rushed over while she called Animal Control. Following the drops of blood, we searched every corner until we found him. His head carried deep wounds, but his eyes still held life. That’s when my sister decided he wouldn’t spend another night as a stray. She brought him home.
Years have passed. Freddy’s muzzle is now gray, but his spirit is lighter. He yodels every time he sees me, as if reminding us that survival shaped him, and love carried him the rest of the way.
