I adopted the oldest, sickest, most forgotten Pitbull in the shelter.

And I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look in his eyes.

When I walked past the kennels, dogs were barking, jumping, begging to be seen.

But he didn’t move.

He was curled up in the corner of his crate, head low, body tired —

like a soul that had already learned what it feels like to be overlooked.

Ignored too many times. Passed by too often.

The volunteers kept stopping me.

“Are you sure?”

“He’s very sick.”

“He’s old… and he’s a Pitbull.”

Without hesitation, I said,

“Yes. That’s my dog.”

When the kennel door opened, other dogs rushed past me —

but I walked straight to him.

And then something happened…

He slowly lifted his head and looked at me —

not with excitement, not with fear —

but with quiet disbelief.

Like he couldn’t understand

why someone finally chose him.

I knelt down, wrapped him gently in my arms, and whispered,

“You’re safe now. You’re loved. You’re home.”

He rested his head against me…

and fell asleep right there.

Maybe for the first time in his life,

he felt peace.

Pitbulls aren’t broken.

They’re misunderstood.

They’re loyal, loving, and they feel deeply.

Give them a chance.

Give them love.

They’ve been waiting for us all along.