I grew up believing in one simple rule: always help those in need—whether it’s a person or an animal. For years, I lived by that principle without question. But one night, that belief shattered.
On my way home, I spotted a dog on the roadside. A large German Shepherd, curled up and shivering, stared at me with eyes so full of despair that my heart broke. He looked starved, exhausted, and lost. Without thinking twice, I stopped and called him over. To my surprise, he came instantly, sitting obediently at my feet. “I’ve just found a friend,” I thought.
The first day was perfect. He devoured the food I gave him and then fell asleep on the mat by the door, looking peaceful. I went to bed proud of myself, convinced I had done the right thing.
But only days later, things started to feel wrong.
At first, he wouldn’t drink water. No matter how fresh the bowl was, he barely touched it. I brushed it off—maybe nerves, maybe stress. But then his behavior grew more unsettling.
He ran aimlessly through the apartment, scratched frantically at the doors, and sometimes froze mid-step, his ears twitching as if he heard something I couldn’t. Other times, he’d just sit and stare at me for minutes on end, his gaze sharp and unnerving. At night, it was worse—growling at shadows, pacing the room, leaping up suddenly as though chased by invisible threats.
I tried to convince myself it was just the shock of a new home. Maybe he missed his old family. Maybe he would calm down with time.
But one morning, everything changed.
As I bent down to pet him, he lunged. His teeth sank into my arm before I even realized what happened. The pain was sharp, but the horror came later—when the doctor gave me the diagnosis. The dog was rabid. And the truth hit me like ice: he may have been infected from the very first moment I saw him.
Now I face a grueling, months-long treatment. And every day, I replay that moment in my mind—the look in his eyes, the sudden attack, the bite that changed everything.
I have always loved dogs. But after this, fear has taken root so deeply that I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust them again.
