From Rock Bottom to Hope: How My Dog Bixby Helped Me Hold On
They say rock bottom is losing your job, your home, or even your family. But for me, it was something quieter—something more invisible.
It was the day I realized no one had said my name in two weeks.
No one… except Bixby.
Of course, my dog couldn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. Every morning, he looked at me like I still mattered. Like I was still his person—no matter what life had thrown at us.
We’d been through a lot together. After getting evicted, most shelters turned us away because of their no-pets policy. So we spent our nights outside, huddled under a tarp or behind buildings. Cold, hungry, invisible. But Bixby never left my side. Even when I had nothing to give, he kept wagging that crooked little tail, just happy to see me.
One day, I hadn’t eaten in two days. A car passed by and someone tossed a sausage biscuit out the window. I split it in half. Bixby sniffed his piece, then nudged it toward me with his nose—like he was saying, “You first. I can wait.”
That moment broke me in the best way. I felt seen—by him, at least.
I started writing a sign—not to beg, but to explain. People saw the dirt on my face, the tattered clothes, but they didn’t see him. They didn’t see the friend who was keeping me going.
Then, everything changed.
I was getting ready to move spots when a woman in scrubs stopped in front of us. She looked at Bixby, then at me, and said, “We’ve been looking for you.”
I didn’t understand at first. Thought maybe she had the wrong person. But then she pulled out a photo—me and Bixby, taken from a distance. Turns out, a social worker had spotted us weeks ago and sent the photo to an outreach group that partners with housing programs and pet-friendly clinics.
“I’m Jen,” she said. “We have a room for you. It’s dog-friendly. Are you interested?”
I just stared at her. A room? For both of us?
I’d heard “no” so many times that I’d forgotten what “yes” felt like.
She must’ve noticed the hesitation in my eyes, because she crouched down, gave Bixby a gentle scratch behind the ears, and said softly, “You kept him warm. Let us do the same for you.”
That was five days ago.
Now, Bixby and I are staying in a small room at a halfway house. It’s nothing fancy—just a bed, a mini fridge, and a shared bathroom—but it’s clean, safe, and warm.
That first night, they gave Bixby a bath, checked him out at the vet, and handed him a squeaky toy. He buried it under the pillow like it was treasure.
They gave me a hot meal, clean clothes, and even a phone to call my sister. It was the first time we’d spoken in over a year.
Yesterday, Jen came back with a job application—part-time warehouse work, no experience needed, weekly pay. She said it’s mine if I want it.
And I do.
Not just for me—but for us.
Because Bixby didn’t ask for this life. But he stuck with me through all of it. He never gave up on me.
Here’s what I’ve learned through all of this: it’s not always the cold or hunger that breaks you. It’s the silence. The feeling that no one sees you anymore.
But sometimes, all it takes to break that silence is one loyal friend—and five words:
“We’ve been looking for you.”
So if you’re ever unsure whether small kindnesses matter—they do.
If you ever question whether animals understand love—they do.
And if you’re lucky enough to have someone—two-legged or four—who stays by your side when life falls apart… don’t let them go.
Share this if you believe in second chances—for people and pets. Like it if you know loyalty doesn’t need words.
