Milo: Dear Hooman, You guys have a terrible memory!

Dear Hooman,
It’s me, Milo.
I know I look a little weird. People always do a double take. One of my legs doesn’t work. My tongue sticks out all the time. It’s okay — it’s just because of something called distemper. It made me really sick once.

I don’t remember most of that time.
But I do remember waking up in a trash can.

It was raining. Cold.
My body felt like stone. I couldn’t move anything except my eyes.
But I still thought… maybe it was just a mistake.
Maybe my mom just forgot me there.
She was always kind of forgetful.

So I waited.
I waited for her to come back.
I was tired — more tired than I’d ever been — so I curled up and slept.

Then… something strange happened.
I woke up surrounded by people in white coats.
They smelled like metal and soap.
One of them wasn’t wearing white — she stood out. Her eyes looked… mad. And scared. And kind.

They were arguing. Loudly. I think it was about putting me to sleep.

Eventually some people found me. They smelled like hospitals. One of them wanted to put me to sleep. I didn’t really mind. I was tired. Everything hurt.

But there was one woman who looked different. She didn’t wear a coat. She looked angry. And worried. She took me with her.

I didn’t trust her. I didn’t want a new mom. I wanted the old one — even though she never came back. For a long time, I thought maybe if I waited long enough, she’d remember me.

But she didn’t.

That woman — they call her Sister Ling — brought me to a shelter. A small one. Loud, sometimes. Full of dogs that run faster than me. I can’t play like them. My legs don’t really work. And my tongue always sticks out.

Most dogs don’t play with me. I think they don’t know what to say. That’s okay. I got used to being alone a long time ago.

But I like people. A lot.
Even if they’re just passing by. Even if they don’t stop.
Just seeing someone smile when they see me — that’s enough.

I don’t need anyone to take me home.
I already have one.
It’s not perfect. But it’s mine. And I’m still here.

Still wagging.
Still loving.

Even forgotten dogs remember how to love.