This is Buddy's story (in his words) I was born into a backyard where fighting was normal. They call it backyard breeding, but that doesn't explain the blood, the screaming, or the nights when dogs didn't make it back inside. The fights happened when it was dark. Sometimes you fought harder and lived. Sometimes you didn't. The ones who didn't were dragged away like they never existed. I chose to fight. That's why my legs are scarred. That's why my ears look the way they do. That's why my body tells my story before I ever get a chance to. I'm not just marked on the outside. I carry it inside too. People hesitate when they see me. I know why. My breed. My scars. The way I look like I've lived too hard for too long. I've never had a real home. I think those only happen in dreams or movies. But I don't hate people. I love them. I wag my tail. I lean in for pets. I get excited when someone says my name. Maybe I shouldn't trust humans, but I do anyway. Someone once promised me a new life. They said rescue would be different. That I'd be safe. They were half right. I don't fight anymore. I have a bed. I get food on time. I'm warm. I live in boarding. I will probably die in boarding. But here's the thing. Life is better than it was. The people here love me. They tell me I'm a good dog. They send me toys. They dress me in costumes. They call me the mascot. I get snacks and sunbathing and hugs that last longer than a second. I grew a lump on my leg. They said it was a lipoma. It didn't bother me... until it did. Until it burst. Until the bleeding wouldn't stop. I was scared when they took me to the hospital. Hospitals haven't always been kind places for dogs like me. But this time was different. Someone showed up for me. They didn't walk away. They didn't say I wasn't worth it. They didn't count my scars and decide no. They said yes.