While preparing the yard for Hurricane Irma, the last thing I expected was to find a lost soul in need of saving. Across the street, standing alone, was a beautiful but filthy and skittish dog.

I called to her like I would any pup, and to my surprise, she cautiously walked over—pausing to look both ways before crossing the street. Smart girl. But as she got closer, I saw the exhaustion in her eyes, the hesitation in her step. She was hungry, wary, and covered in dirt and mats.

I ran inside to grab some food and water. She devoured three bowls of food and two cups of water like she hadn’t eaten in days. Each time I went back inside, she waited patiently for me to return. With a full belly, her entire demeanor changed—she nuzzled into me, placing her paw on my arm, pulling it back to her chest whenever I stopped petting her.

That’s when I knew.

I couldn’t leave her outside with the storm coming. I held open the door and asked, “Do you want to come in?” She hesitated for just a second—then trotted inside, like she knew she was home.

That’s when I saw just how bad her condition was.

Her fur was completely matted, tangled with filth and feces. There were huge, painful knots behind her ears, and she had even sat in tar at some point. She flinched when I got near that side of her body, and when I checked her paws, my heart sank.

“They were bleeding.”

She had left a trail of bloody paw prints across the living room, yet she never once complained. I knew she needed a bath immediately.

It didn’t go well.

She trusted me enough to let me lift her into the tub, but the moment the water turned on, she barked, cried, and panicked. I barely managed to clean the top of her back before we both needed a break.

So, we curled up on the couch. My dog, Arthur, never took his eyes off her, but after some time, they snuggled up together and napped. That was her first real moment of peace.

Round two.

This time, I started with the clippers. She wasn’t thrilled about the noise, but she let me cut away most of the mats. Her ears were still off-limits, but I took my time. It took four hours of cutting, scrubbing, and gently shaving to free her from the hardened tar and painful knots. I hated shaving her beautiful tail, but there was no way to save it.

Once she was finally clean, I set down another bowl of food, and she ate while looking so much lighter—like a weight had been lifted off her body.

When I let her outside for the first time, she took off running, circling the shed before racing back to me like she just wanted to make sure I was still there. Then, she proudly brought me sticks, as if she had already decided we were a team.

The next day, I took her to the vet. No chip. They told me she was likely a husky/wolf mix, under a year old, but she had clearly been on her own for a long time.

She wouldn’t let me out of her sight. She followed me everywhere, howling outside the bathroom door if I left. When we finally managed to clip behind her ears, she froze for a moment—then relaxed, like she finally realized we were helping, not hurting.

I hoped she had a family out there missing her, so I posted her everywhere. I wanted to believe she had been loved.

But the truth shattered my heart.

Her original owners had lost their apartment and re-homed her, thinking she’d be cared for. But that next family gave her away soon after. Another person said she belonged to her boyfriend, but when he couldn’t keep her, they let her out of a truck on the side of the road—a month ago, in a different city.

She had been wandering alone, trying to survive, ever since.

I had so many offers from wonderful dog lovers willing to take her in. But after everything, I knew there was no way I could let her go.

She had already chosen me.

The first time I called her new name—Amaterasu, or Amy for short—she perked up, ears forward, tail wagging. Like she’d been waiting for someone to call her home.

Now, she has to be touching me even in her sleep, curled up against me as if to say, “I finally belong somewhere.”

And she does. She’s home. Forever.