I adopted my friend April’s dog over a year ago when she moved in with her boyfriend, who didn’t want pets. She gave me all rights. The dog became my WORLD. She saved me from depression.
But recently, April asked for the dog back since her boyfriend was now okay with it. I refused, explaining that the dog was settled and happy with me. Furious, April accused me of “stealing her dog” and threatened to end our friendship. When I didn’t budge, she escalated—sending angry texts, then reaching out to my relatives with lies to try to ruin our relationship. And still…I can’t give her away. She is my baby.💔
I tried to reason with April, reminding her that she willingly gave up her rights and that I wasn’t just some temporary caretaker—this dog was my family now. But she wouldn’t hear it. Her messages became more aggressive, filled with guilt-tripping and accusations.
At first, I was heartbroken. April had been my friend for years, and I never imagined she would turn on me like this. But the more she pushed, the more I realized something: a true friend wouldn’t do this. A real friend would see how much love and stability this dog had with me and wouldn’t try to rip her away just because circumstances had changed.
The worst part? The stress started affecting my dog, too. She sensed my anxiety, sticking to my side even more than usual. It made me even more determined—she needed me just as much as I needed her.
Then one day, April showed up at my doorstep.
“I just want to see her,” she said, her voice almost pleading. But I knew better now.
I shook my head. “No, April. You gave her up. She’s happy, and I won’t let you take her away.”
April’s face twisted with anger, but I stood firm. She muttered something under her breath and stormed off. That night, she blocked me on everything.
It hurt, but when I looked down at my sweet girl curled up beside me, I knew I had made the right choice. Some friendships end, but love—the unconditional kind—never does.
And I would never let her go.
I adopted my friend April’s dog over a year ago when she moved in with her boyfriend, who didn’t want pets. She gave me all rights. The dog became my WORLD. She saved me from depression.
But recently, April asked for the dog back since her boyfriend was now okay with it. I refused, explaining that the dog was settled and happy with me. Furious, April accused me of “stealing her dog” and threatened to end our friendship. When I didn’t budge, she escalated—sending angry texts, then reaching out to my relatives with lies to try to ruin our relationship. And still… I can’t give her away. She is my baby.💔
At first, I tried to be patient. I reminded April that she had made a choice—she had given up her dog when she moved in with her boyfriend. It wasn’t a temporary arrangement, and it wasn’t something I agreed to lightly. When I took that dog in, I promised to care for her, love her, and give her a stable, happy life. And I did. She became more than just a pet—she was my comfort, my reason to wake up in the morning, my family.
But April didn’t care. The more I tried to explain, the more relentless she became.
“You knew she was always mine,” she texted one night. “You were just supposed to take care of her, not steal her.”
I clenched my phone in frustration. Steal her? April had practically thrown her into my arms when she left. At the time, she was so sure—so happy to be moving forward with her new life. And now, because it was suddenly convenient, she wanted to take my baby away?
My refusal only made her angrier. The messages became crueler, more desperate. Then she started calling my family members. First, my sister—who thankfully knew the truth and shut her down immediately. Then my mom, who called me, confused and concerned.
“She said you manipulated her into giving up the dog,” my mom told me over the phone. “That you promised it was temporary.”
I felt like I had been punched.
“She’s lying,” I whispered. “She’s lying, and I don’t know why she’s doing this.”
“I believe you,” my mom reassured me. “But this isn’t just about her anymore. You need to be careful.”
And she was right. April’s behavior had become more than just an argument between friends. It was a campaign. She wanted to destroy me over this.
Then, the worst moment of all—April showed up at my house.
I opened the door to find her standing there, arms crossed, eyes red with anger.
“I just want to see her,” she said, voice shaking.
I hesitated. Not because I wanted to say yes, but because a part of me still wished this wasn’t happening. That this wasn’t the same girl I had once called my best friend.
“No,” I finally said. “You gave her up, April. She’s happy here. She’s mine now.”
For a second, her face crumpled—then she hardened, her hands curling into fists. “You’re selfish.”
“No,” I said softly. “I’m protecting my dog.”
She stared at me for a long moment, breathing heavily. Then, without another word, she turned and stormed off.
That night, she blocked me on everything.
I should have felt relief. But instead, I sat on the couch, running my fingers through my dog’s fur, my heart heavy. Losing a friend like this hurt. But I looked down at my baby, nestled beside me, her warm little body curled up in absolute trust, and I knew—without a doubt—I had done the right thing.
Some friendships don’t last forever. But love—the real, unconditional kind—does. And I would never let her go.
