A letter to Rodolfo

From Somewhere Peaceful, July 2025

If you’re reading this, I’ve already gone.

But before I go too far, there are things I need to say. Not to ask for pity — I had enough of that in the early chapters of my life. What I want is to leave behind my story, the real one, the one that turned into something beautiful when I thought it never would.

I was born on the streets of Alajuelita. No collar. No name. No one waiting for me anywhere. I learned early that the world could be unkind to dogs like me. People looked right through me — unless it was to shout, or kick, or chase me away from their doorsteps. I scavenged what I could, slept where I could, and carried on the best I could.

Then came the day that broke me — literally.

A man, the kind whose soul had long since gone quiet, beat me with a metal pipe. I don’t know what I did to deserve it. I don’t think I did anything. He hit me again and again until my spine gave in. After that, I dragged my back legs around for two weeks. The pain was everywhere. So was the fear. And yet, a part of me — small, tired, stubborn — kept hoping someone might see me.

And someone did.

Territorio de Zaguates rescued me. They carried me gently, as if I still mattered, and gave me a name: Rodolfo. They paid for my surgery, not because they thought I’d ever walk again — Dr. Araya said the damage was too great — but because they didn’t want me to suffer. They wanted me to have relief. Mercy.

And that might’ve been the end of the story.

But that’s when she arrived.

Dr. Nicole Lachner.

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She became my physiotherapist — which, as it turns out, is human for "miracle worker with gentle hands, weird instruments, and infinite patience." At first, all I could do was twitch. But she believed in me. She touched me like I wasn’t broken. She spoke to me like I was still whole. Day after day, she showed up, and little by little… I stood up. I walked. I ran.

I ran!

And then, just when I thought I’d been given more than I ever deserved, something even better happened.

She took me home.

She and her father made me part of their family in 2021. For over 4 years I had a bed. I had a name that someone said out loud with love in their voice. I had food and toys and belly rubs. But more than that — I had peace. I had safety. I had belonging.

That’s the part I want you to remember.

Not the beatings. Not the hunger. Not the dragging of my limp legs on the hot pavement.

Remember that I got to know what love feels like. That I left this life full. That I was someone’s dog. That I mattered.

Please don’t be sad for me.

Instead, let my story remind you that there are still thousands of Rodolfos out there — in gutters, in silence, in fear — waiting to be seen. Waiting to feel a kind hand. Waiting to know what I got to know before I left: what it feels like to be loved, to be safe, to come home.

Thank you, Dr. Nicole. Thank you for being my miracle.

Love always,

Rodolfo

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