Luc's Story

Last Dog of the year.

LUC

I didn’t plan to take in another dog.
But rescue and planning rarely go together—if at all.

I saw his post in a Facebook group:

“FREE Shih Tzu mix. Need gone ASAP. My mother-in-law abandoned him here. He doesn’t get along with my dog.”

“Free” on sites like this can lead to a very grisly end—dog fighting bait dog is a real and terrifying risk. I responded immediately, and we arranged a pickup time.

People often ask me where I get my dogs. There is no simple answer. They come from everywhere. I monitor pet rehoming sites, word of mouth, sometimes I literally find them. Prevention is part of my strategy. If a dog doesn’t have to enter the shelter system, their mental health is protected- as much as it can be after losing their family and home.

His name is Luc. I learned more about his story when I picked him up, and what this poor dog endured still makes my stomach drop.

The woman who had him had only adopted him a few weeks earlier. Shortly after, she agreed to house-sit for her son and daughter-in-law. They had a much larger dog in the home. There were no slow introductions. No time for decompression. Just a small, newly adopted, freshly neutered dog suddenly dropped into a strange house with a big, unfamiliar male dog.

This shocks no one- a fight broke out. Instead of asking for help or safely separating the dogs and managing the situation for the rest of her stay, the woman abandoned ship. She took the incident personally, couldn’t believe he would “do that” to her, and decided she no longer wanted the dog.

Her solution was unthinkable.

She locked Luc in a laundry room with no food and no water and left by ambulance (she reportedly uses them as transportation), without telling anyone what she had done. She didn’t notify the family. She didn’t make arrangements. She didn’t come back.

For nearly a week, Luc sat behind a closed door—hungry, thirsty, scared, confused, and waiting. The other animals in the house had limited access to food and water—nowhere near enough for days on end. And Luc had nothing at all.

When the family finally found out, they rushed home in horror.

They refused to return Luc to her—and rightly so. The daughter-in-law posted him for adoption, desperate to get him somewhere safe.

That’s where I came in.

When I picked him up, I saw a dehydrated, shaken, shut-down little soul who had survived something no animal ever should.

He wasn’t damaged.
He wasn’t broken.
But he was traumatized—and he needed space, patience, and safety to be a dog again. Out here at the dog-centered sanctuary, he could rediscover what it means to live fully: to run without fear, to play without hesitation, to explore, sniff, and simply be himself. Here, food is always available, water is never withheld, doors are see through, and love is consistent, steady and patient. This is where dogs like Luc learn that the world can be gentle, predictable, and safe—and where the healing truly begins.

Luc had been failed repeatedly. And yet, within days, the fear began to loosen its grip. He stopped flinching when my hand moved near him. He no longer went stiff as a board when I picked him up. He started leaning in. He began wagging—cautiously, but honestly. He looked to me for connection.

He became good friends with a resident dog. He started swimming in the pool, running, and playing with the others. I could see the stress melting away.

This is why rescue exists.
Not because it’s easy.
Not because it’s clean or predictable.

But because dogs like Luc don’t have a voice when humans make reckless, careless decisions on their behalf.

Luc didn’t need punishment.
He didn’t need blame.
He needed patience, dog-centered love, and someone willing to say yes when everyone else walked away.

He is safe now.
He has food. Water. A soft place to sleep.
And time—time to decompress, heal, and learn that locked doors, loud voices, and empty bowls are no longer part of his world.

Luc is not the exception.
He is the rule.

For every Luc who finds safety, there are countless others still waiting—overlooked, misunderstood, and one bad decision away from tragedy. This is why we rescue. This is why we intervene. This is why we keep going—and why there will always be room for one more.