I'm starting my story a little earlier, before Willis' adoption day, because it was a long journey until I found this dog, my heart's desire. (I apologize in advance for the long introduction. I'm known for expanding stories very, very, very much. But how else can you get the reader to understand the final conclusion?)

I grew up with two dogs. When I was little, people only looked for me in places where our dogs were: my four-legged best friend and I usually lay together in the dog basket and philosophized about the topics of my childhood. Since he rarely responded, I occasionally tried to teach my friend to talk - I was too excited to hear what he would tell me. The older I got, the more I realized that I had to learn the language of my dog ​​or the animals. "I wouldn't travel to a foreign country and assume that the people there speak my language or even that I have to teach it to them," I thought.

This is how I learned empathy from my dog.

My second great love, a dog, died shortly after I had started my first degree. From that day on, I was missing my best friend and also a whole part of myself, a piece of identity (every dog ​​owner knows this feeling only too well). But now it was time to study, to find yourself (difficult when you had lost a large part of yourself), to grow up (also a difficult matter...).

My second degree in veterinary medicine required me to develop a certain distance from our four-legged friends. Otherwise, one would be overwhelmed by compassion. Dealing with dogs in the clinic or taking in foster dogs was too much for me: it no longer felt like it had from my childhood. I often gave up on the dream of having a four-legged companion in my life. But I never left the sadness of never again feeling the feeling that I fondly remembered from my childhood. I still felt that a large part of me was missing.

For this reason, I still looked for an abandoned soul every day, was registered on countless animal welfare websites and every now and then applied for foster dogs - "foster dog with the prospect of a permanent home" was my constant subject line.

In the summer of 2020, a beautiful, large, agile dog looked at me through my screen: "This will be my final home!" flashed through my mind. She belonged to an animal welfare association that I had registered with a year earlier (as carefully as I always prepare decisions in my life - my astrologer friend would say "typical Virgo"). The obligatory preliminary check had also been successfully completed a year earlier. I applied as quickly as possible and booked a trip to her country of residence (part of my conscientiousness was the intention of definitely having to get to know the dog beforehand). The basket, leash, collar, and toys were ordered and on their way to me.

But then came the shocking news: one day before she was due to leave for her country, I received the news that she had been placed there at short notice. A huge disappointment!

I left anyway and accepted the fact that this was not going to be a "dog rescue vacation." It felt almost like heartbreak, which is why I didn't actively consider another dog. After a quiet day on vacation, I fell into bed, picked up my phone and scrolled wearily through my Facebook feed. Dog look after dog look passed before my eyes.

Suddenly a small white bear with the warmest golden gaze appears. I stop. Three images put together like a collage. It almost feels like I know that look. Above it is the page name "Dwarves in Need"...

Five minutes later, I click on the "send" field of my application email, which I wrote with the thought "now I understand why I was turned down three days ago for a dog that I really wanted to adopt."

Two weeks later, I set off early in the morning to take my "final destination" to a rest stop near Munich. Panic rises within me. My mind kicks in: "You don't know the organization or the dog. He's small! Not big. And a male! Not a female and...unneutered! Will he bite? Will he be friendly? Will he accept me? What was the plan to get to know the dog first?" Cold sweat. Pure panic. I would have preferred to run away from the rest stop near Munich. Luckily, at that moment a transport truck drives around the corner. Two men get out and press a blue EU passport into my hand. I don't know what they're saying to me, I can hardly read, I'm so dizzy. They run quickly back to the transport truck and open the door: dogs barking, dogs howling... a dozen poor, scared, tired creatures who don't know what's going on here. The box of my protégé is opened, I try to find his gaze, which could give me security...there he is already in my arms, this little guy, this warm beating heart on four paws.

Pure happiness. No more panic. Here I know, here I feel: this is my final destination. "I will protect you with my life, everything will be fine," a promise that I promptly give him. He looks at me for a long time with his tired eyes and after a short while wags his tail embarrassedly and cautiously in response to my reassuring words. Here I know that he has understood that everything will be fine.

This is Willi: an optimist. A dog who, despite traumatic experiences, is happy, curious, good-natured, sensitive, independent, but still affectionate, intelligent and funny. He has middle names like Wilbert or Wilfred and wears them with royal pride. He loves to lie upside down and grin at the world or chase a bird in the hope that his two mismatched ears will help him take off one day.

My heart dog, who brought back to me the greatest love of dogs. My heart dog, who teaches me that things turn out the way they should. My heart dog with golden eyes, whose language I learn every day with curiosity and joy - becoming more empathetic for the beings we live with and who give us so much.