The first time I laid eyes on the dog, the sight broke my heart. Its body was painfully thin, the skin covered in sores that made it scratch constantly as though every inch of its being was on fire. The fur was sparse, patchy in places, and its weary eyes carried the heavy weight of a life that had clearly known more hardship than comfort. I stood there frozen for a moment, staring at this fragile creature, and an overwhelming thought came to me: had someone really abandoned this dog to suffer alone? The possibility seemed cruel, yet the evidence was written all over its body.

Hesitant but unable to ignore the urge to help, I offered it a small dish of food and some water. To my relief, it devoured both with such urgency that I could almost feel its hunger in my own chest. At first, my intention was simply to feed it and then walk away. After all, I didn’t know anything about the dog, and I wasn’t sure if I was even allowed to keep one where I lived. But as night fell, the image of the dog’s suffering refused to leave my mind. The thought of it shivering alone, its sores untreated and its stomach still empty, tugged at me until I knew I couldn’t just walk away.

That was the moment the decision crystallized in my heart: I would take the dog home.

Sneaking a stray past the strict security at my apartment complex was no easy task. My heart pounded as I carried her inside, worried someone might stop me. But once through the door, everything changed. The dog, who had seemed so timid and wary outside, began to relax. It followed me everywhere in the apartment, almost as if it knew that for the first time in a long while, it was safe. Every step it took behind me carried a silent plea for affection, and I couldn’t help but reach down to comfort it.

I knew then that if I was going to take responsibility, I had to do it fully. Driven by both compassion and a sense of duty, I immediately ordered the medication I knew would be necessary to treat its skin condition. I understood this would not be a quick or simple journey. Healing takes time, and I was prepared to give it the care, patience, and commitment it needed for as long as it took.

The very next day, I started tending to its painful sores. I was careful with every touch, afraid of causing more pain, but determined to bring some relief. To my surprise, the dog didn’t resist. Though it was clearly uncomfortable, it lay still as if it understood that I was trying to help, not hurt. That quiet acceptance was one of the first signs that trust was beginning to bloom between us.

In the weeks that followed, I uncovered more evidence of the difficult life it had endured. Scars from tick bites, marks left by lice, signs of infections that had gone untreated. And yet, despite all of this, the dog never lashed out, never turned away. It bore the treatments bravely, and each day seemed to open a little more of its guarded heart.

Slowly, something wonderful began to happen. The dog started wagging its tail whenever I reached out a hand. On walks, it stayed close by my side, no longer afraid of every passing sound. It even began responding to my voice when I called. These small but significant changes filled me with hope.

When it came time to give the dog a name, I wanted something that carried meaning. A friend suggested “September,” the month in which I had found her, and the name felt right. September symbolized not only the timing but also a season of change, a turning point from despair to renewal. And so she became September.

With steady patience and consistent care, September began to heal. The wounds closed. Patches of fur slowly grew back. Her eyes, once clouded with sadness, started to sparkle with curiosity and life. I noticed, too, that she showed signs of past training. She would walk directly to the grass field as if she had once been taught where to relieve herself. These small discoveries gave me glimpses of the dog she used to be before hardship had dimmed her spirit.

The transformation over the next two months was nothing short of remarkable. September became almost unrecognizable. Her coat thickened and gleamed under the sunlight. She moved with a renewed energy that spoke of joy rather than exhaustion. And most of all, her eyes no longer carried sorrow but shone with trust and affection.

Though my time in Zhejiang is temporary, and though the day may come when I have to leave, my promise to September remains firm. I will do everything I can to ensure she finds a safe, loving, permanent home—a family that will cherish her as much as she deserves. I know I cannot keep her forever, but I can give her the chance to live the rest of her life in security and warmth.

Rescuing September has been one of the most profound experiences of my life. People often say that saving one dog won’t change the world, and maybe that’s true. But for September, being rescued changed absolutely everything. And for me, it served as a powerful reminder that kindness, even in small measures, can ripple outward in ways we may never fully see.

Watching September heal, trust, and ultimately rediscover happiness has been nothing short of inspiring. Her journey is a testament to resilience, and a living reminder that no act of compassion is ever wasted.

For now, I will keep walking beside her, feeding her, caring for her, and preparing her for a future where she will never again know abandonment. September’s story is still being written, but I know one thing for certain—her days of suffering are over, and her days of love are only just beginning.