Layla. That was her name.

I thought it was a pretty name, and when I saw her picture, I thought she was a pretty dog, so it seemed fitting. But I quickly learned her past was anything but.

Layla had been abused. She belonged to a person who was also abused, and when Layla began to defend her, she was met with that same violence. That led to her surrender. The night she came to us, she was just like any other social dog. She was sweet, affectionate, ready to give kisses, and didn't show any signs of what she had gone through. Unfortunately, that wouldn't be the case for long.

We soon found out that she had deep triggers. If you pet her in a way she didn't like, she would bite. And it wasn't just a small warning nip. It was a bad bite. The kind that made it clear something had gone very wrong in her past, and that her body had learned to protect itself the only way it knew how. Without being able to place her in a home that was truly equipped to work with her and get her the training she needed, we were facing a decision no one wanted to make.

But I couldn't let it end there.

Something in me couldn't accept it. I looked at her and said, “this isn’t where it ends for you.”

So I took her home. I had to see how she would do with my cats and my other dogs, and she did fine. She was a sweet dog underneath it all; she just didn't know any better and I wasn't going to give up on her.

I decided to officially adopt her, and I gave her a new name. I didn’t want her to carry the name of her painful past anymore, so I named her Hinata, a Japanese word that symbolizes a sunny place. Hina, for short.

I committed to getting her training with a professional who specializes in dogs with bite histories. I couldn't afford it right away, so I spent that time getting to know her and learning her triggers. It wasn't always easy, and yes, she bit me a couple of times. But each time it happened, I could tell it came from a place of pure reaction and fear, not malice. She wasn't a bad dog. She was a scared one, and there's a difference.

I worked hard, saved up, and finally got her into training. She made incredible progress and came back with so much more confidence and a happiness that was impossible to miss. For the first time, I could take her places and trust that she was safe around people, which mattered because I had to be responsible about that. Taking in a dog with a bite history doesn't mean you stop being accountable to the people around you.

But just when things were looking up, she got sick. She was an adult and fully vaccinated, but she contracted Parvovirus, and she became dangerously ill almost immediately, her body losing protein rapidly from constant vomiting and diarrhea. Multiple vet visits, round after round of medications, and still nothing was working. Eventually, I had to rush her to the emergency vet to have fluid drained from her abdomen.

Through the generosity of people who stepped up and helped make it possible, I was able to take her to a specialist, where we learned that the Parvo had triggered a severe autoimmune condition where her body was attacking its own digestive system. She had almost died from abuse. She had almost died from behavioral euthanasia. And now she was almost dying from this.

With the help of people who believed in what I was doing for her, we afforded the extensive specialist care she needed. It took months of treatment, of monitoring, of not knowing, but Hina fought through every bit of it.

Once she was finally stable and on the other side of it all, her vet took a closer look and asked me something I wasn't expecting. She wanted to know if Hina might be older than we originally thought. Between her teeth, her energy, and everything else I could see in her, I knew she wasn't an old dog.

Hina's X-rays showed that she either had the spine of a very old dog, or she had severe markers of past physical abuse, the kind that comes from serious injury, not just wear and tear. It was heartbreaking confirmation that the stories of her past were true. Her past was written in her bones. What came next was still mine to give her.

In time, Hina's autoimmune condition went into remission. Today, she is the beautiful, vibrant dog she was always meant to be. She is living her best life and still benefiting from her training. Her best friend is my cat, Bruce Willis, who she loves to play with and gently corn-cob nibble on. She loves rolling around outside in the grass, especially if she finds something stinky, and as my only long-haired dog, she of course has to find the absolute stinkiest things to roll in.

She came to us as Layla, carrying a name and a past she never asked for. She now has a new one, a name that means sunny place. At the time, it felt like a hope more than a promise. Today, it feels like exactly the right word.

Hina survived the unthinkable, over and over again. Today, she isn't just surviving. She is living in the sun.

-Martha, written in honor of my Hina Bo Bina