At 75, I Chose Marlin—And He Chose Me
When my son told me about Marlin, my heart broke. A young couple took their beautiful three year old Cane Corso mixed breed dog to a shelter and asked for him to be euthanized.
They said they were moving and could not handle such a big dog anymore. They had raised him since he was just a 3 months old puppy, yet they left him behind like he did not matter.
The shelter refused to do it. They kept Marlin safe and tried to help him. But I could not stop thinking about him. I thought about how confused and hurt he must have felt after giving his love to people who suddenly did not want him.
I told my son, “I want to bring Marlin home.” My son was worried. He said, “Mom, he is a strong dog. Are you sure you can handle him?”
But I have lived a long life. I raised children. I faced many hard times. I have loved big dogs before. I was not afraid of his size. I was afraid of what would happen to him if no one helped him.
When I met Marlin, I knew right away. He was not aggressive. He was not dangerous. He was gentle and quiet, with tired eyes that seemed to ask, “Why didn’t they want me anymore?”
I took him home that same day. Now Marlin stays close to me all the time. He follows me everywhere. He rests his head on my lap and sleeps at my feet, like he is protecting the one person who did not give up on him.
Sometimes he looks at me like he is still learning that he is safe, that he is loved, and that he is home.
I cannot understand how anyone could see him as a burden.
To me, Marlin is not just a dog. He is family. And this time, he is home forever.
The first night he slept in my house, he didn’t roam or test boundaries. He chose a spot beside my chair and lay down with a long, careful sigh, as if he had been holding his breath for weeks. Every time I moved, his eyes opened just enough to make sure I was still there. Not anxious—just watchful. In the morning, he followed me slowly to the kitchen, his large paws surprisingly quiet on the floor. He waited patiently while I made my tea, sitting politely instead of pushing ahead. There is a dignity about him that humbles me. He walks beside me on our short neighborhood strolls, strong but gentle, adjusting his pace to mine without being asked. Neighbors sometimes look twice at his size, but then they see the way he leans softly against my leg and their expressions change. He is not the fierce creature some might imagine. He is a soul who wanted reassurance. At seventy-five, I may not move as quickly as I once did, but I understand loyalty. I understand second chances. When Marlin rests his heavy head in my lap and closes his eyes, I feel the quiet truth of it—we found each other at exactly the right time. He was not too big. I was not too old. We were simply two hearts that refused to let the other be abandoned.
