Good Night, Sami.

The sun burned white above the rusted tin roof. It pressed down on our cages like a giant invisible paw, heavy and mean. I was lying on my side, panting. My babies were piled against me, warm and wriggly and quiet. Too quiet. They didn’t cry anymore. They were learning. The cage was small, too small for all of us. I was watching the big door, as I always was. All the dogs that went through that door never came back. I could hear them screaming before everything became silent again.

Flies buzzed around the water bowl, stale and almost empty. The air smelled of fear, sweat, and rust. My ears always twitched at the sound of footsteps. But today the sound was different. Not the usual steps. Not those of the men with the sticks. These were lighter. And softer. Almost careful.

A new scent followed. Something I had never smelled before. Something sharp and unfamiliar. I lifted my head to see who was approaching. I saw humans I didn't know, men and women, they were talking amongst themselves while walking between the cages. I heard some of the dogs bark. Some others whimpered. Nothing good comes from barking, so I did neither. I curled around my pups and waited.

Then the cage door opened. I was too afraid to look but I had to protect my babies so I stood between the door and them. I was ready.

I saw a face looking back at me. It wasn't frowning or yelling. It had a look I had never seen. It looked like it was friendly enough. I continued to stare. A hand slowly reached in. Not holding a stick, not reaching for the bowl, but to offer a treat. It smelled real. Tempting. The scraps we usually got smelled sour or rotten. This was food. Good food.

It was hard to resist. My babies caught a smell of the treats, and before I could do anything, they were swallowing them whole and licking the hands that were giving them away.

And then everything happened too fast.

One by one, the humans picked up my babies first. They put them in the crates they had. I lunged after them but the cage door slammed shut between us. I barked, I begged, I tried to break free, but no one answered.

Then my turn came to go in a crate. The last thing I remembered was a friendly face looking at me, hands touching my body and my eyes trying to stay opened as the cage was swaying from side to side.

When I woke up, the air was cold and everything was loud. The air smelled of metal and hundreds of strangers. The floor hummed beneath me. I could hear other dogs in crates around me. The noise lasted so long that I fell asleep again.

And then there was sky. A bright, cloudless sky that stretched forever. When the crate door opened, I heard voices, then walked through the opening and I was standing on grass. Real grass. Green grass. Not dirt. Not wire. A strange woman was crouching in front of me. Her voice was soft. Her hands moved slowly. She smelled like chicken and something sweeter underneath. It felt calm.

She looked at me and made soft sounds. There was one word that she kept repeating: "Sami". I didn’t know what that meant.

She held out a loop of fabric. It was red, like the sunset. She moved it closer to me. I didn’t like it. I flinched. She dropped a piece of chicken near me. Then another. And another.

I followed the food, until suddenly, I felt the loop slip around my neck.

I didn’t like the leash. I pulled back. She waited. No yelling. No pain.

She led me in a cage that was huge. Big enough for humans to walk around in it. She called it a "house", I think it meant "human cage". The house was noisy. There were little human feet pounding on the floor. A man who laughed, very loudly. A woman who always smelled like flowers and moved quickly, like she was trying to go everywhere at the same time.

They were nice, I think.

But they wanted to touch me all the time. They called me over with claps, and noises, and whistles. They touched me even when I backed away. When I growled gently to tell them to stop, they looked hurt. Not angry, but surprised. Like they didn’t understand.

I didn’t want to hurt them. I just didn’t want to be touched.

At night, the house was dark but not quiet. The children cried. The man snored. Doors slammed. I curled up in the kitchen. I didn’t move. Didn't eat. Didn't care.

A few days later, a different woman came to visit. They whispered, pointed. Then the leash came out again.

I wanted to fight it, but I was too tired.

The new woman's house was strange. Soft floors. Blankets. There was a bowl. Maybe it was mine. She said the word "Sami" to me often too. I still didn’t know what “Sami” meant.

I didn’t want to stay but the door was closed. I paced for a while until I decided to hide behind the couch. The new woman left food nearby. I waited until she was gone to eat it.

The days passed. She spoke to me softly, from a distance. I didn’t understand her words, but they made me feel more at ease. She’d open the door to outside and I’d lay on the grass for a long time. But she would make me come back inside eventually.

There were other animals here. Cats. They didn't look scared of her. They often rubbed against her legs and purred when she touched them. They would sit next to her and she would speak to them with words that danced. It was a song.

One evening, she opened the door and stepped outside. I followed her to see where she was going. The grass was cool. The sky was orange. She sat on the steps like she was waiting for the time to pass. I took a few steps closer to her. She didn’t move.

She offered me food. From her hand. I took it.

She touched my head. Gently. My body tensed… but nothing bad happened. Her hand moved behind my ears. A scratch. A sigh. Mine.

That night, I went to hide behind the couch again, but I didn't want to be alone anymore. I barked to call her. I heard her soft steps getting closer. Her gentle face appeared from behind the couch and her eyes called me over. I followed her to her room. She looked back from time to time to see if I was still there.

She touched the small bed beside hers and looked at me, as to invite me on it. The bed looked comfortable. More comfortable than the floor behind the couch.

As she sang again, a soft sound, barely louder than the crickets outside, I curled up on the soft bed she gave me. I didn’t look for a way out. It was my bed, my first bed.

She gently laid a soft blanket on me and scratched behind my ear. I loved when she did that. No one had ever done that before.

I listened to her voice as it floated in the dark.

She stopped singing and whispered "Good night, Sami." And suddenly I understood. I had a name. I was hers. I was Sami.