Dear Former Family: A Letter from the Dog You Left Behind

Dear Former Family,

I call you “former” because I will never be coming back to you.

This morning, a kind stranger found me — frostbitten, trembling, and frozen to the ground. They gently lifted me from the icy earth where I had spent the night alone, waiting for a door that never opened. You must have forgotten to bring me inside again, even though you knew the windchill would fall below minus 34 degrees.

Maybe you thought I could handle it. Maybe you believed I was tough enough to survive anything. After all, I lived through so much already — watching my brothers and sisters run into the road and never come back, feeling the cold seep into my bones night after night, wondering what I had done wrong to be left outside while you slept in warmth.

But it’s okay. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.

The people who found me didn’t just see a dog. They saw me. They wrapped me in blankets, gave me food, and whispered softly — words I didn’t understand, but felt in my heart. They said I’m safe now.

My paws still ache, and the frost has left its marks, but for the first time, I’m warm. I have a bed, a name, and hands that don’t strike or shove, but comfort. I have a future — something I didn’t know existed until today.

You will never see me again, and that’s alright. Because now I know what love really is.

I forgive you — not because you deserve it, but because I deserve peace.

Goodbye,
The dog you left behind.