A few weeks later, as we walked Simba, Vincent surprised me by calling out. “I used to train German Shepherds,” he said. For the first time, he wasn’t just existing—he was remembering. His eyes lit up as he pet Simba, and then, something incredible happened: he smiled.
That moment was brief, but powerful. When he offered Simba a treat and tried to fetch it, he fell—his frailty crashing into reality. I rushed in to help and saw the old photos lining his walls: Vincent in uniform, surrounded by Shepherds, proud and strong. One dog stood out—Shadow, his most loyal partner, who saved him in combat… and gave her life in the process.
“I never married,” he whispered. “The dogs were enough. They were my family.” After his injury, he stopped everything. His life paused, and he never hit play again.
That’s when I asked him something that changed everything: “Would you help my boys train Simba?” At first, he resisted. Then he looked at me—really looked—and saw someone else who had felt invisible too. “Alright,” he said, a tear rolling down his cheek. And with that one word, Vincent’s life restarted.