They Said I Couldn’t Keep My Dog—So I Made A Deal I’m Still Paying For

I’ve been out here with Dibs for almost four years. He’s not just a dog—he’s the last thing I got from my brother before he overdosed. Everyone around here knows us. Some people hand us snacks. Some pretend we don’t exist. Whatever. Last winter, though, it got brutally cold. Like, waking-up-with-ice-in-your-hair cold. A shelter van…

Last winter, though, it got brutally cold. Like, waking-up-with-ice-in-your-hair cold. A shelter van drove by, and the guy inside said, “We’ve got a cot for you. Hot meals. But no pets.”

I thanked him, but said no. Dibs and I were a package deal.

Then a woman—I never got her name—approached while I was packing up near the bridge. She wore a shiny coat, talked fast. Said she worked for a “placement organization,” whatever that meant. Promised she could board Dibs for free while I got back on my feet. He’d be warm, fed, and walked every day. She handed me a paper to sign. I hesitated. She smiled and asked, “Do you want him to freeze out here