Everything started one evening in April. I had just woken up after a mediocre nap in the late afternoon when I heard my dad’s car horn. He had brought home the puppy my uncle had promised our family.

It was my first time seeing such a young puppy. He was one month old, and he was small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. My father told me that the puppy was a Belgian Malinois, but as I knew nothing about dogs, I wasn’t sure what that meant.

He had short black hair and a tiny tail, and his ears were less than one inch long. He had glossy black eyes, miniscule paws, and most importantly, he had a huge white star in the middle of his chest, which I learned was a sign that he was a healthy purebred Malinois

We named him Pablo, and I soon took him on as my own. Taking care of a dog is not an easy task, especially for someone who has never had a dog before. I started searching for information about Belgian Malinois on the internet, reading articles, and watching videos about this specific breed and what differentiates it from other breeds.

The Belgian Malinois is a working breed, which means that Pablo was very energetic with needs only an experienced owner could meet. The Malinois needs a lot of stimulation, a lot of training, and tons of play and affection. I was worried that this journey was meant to fail before it even started due to my lack of experience in training dogs, but I accepted the challenge. I loved Pablo and felt almost as though he were my child.

As the days went by, Pablo grew fast, his black coat gradually turning brown, his ears standing up high and strong, and his dreamy eyes looking like two cups of honey.

When Pablo was exactly 100 days old, I started to train him by applying what I learned from watching instructional videos. I taught him some basic commands: sit, stand, lay down, shake hands, speak, and walk close to me. Was it a success? To a certain extent it was, considering that I’m not an expert and that it was my first time doing it. I created an Instagram page for him with the name @pal_dog_ and started posting daily of Pablo and the tricks he learned. I was so proud of him and his accomplishments.

After three months, he sometimes listened to my commands and sometimes he ignored me. I asked a dog expert here in Gaza about what to do in such a situation and he said: hit him and beat him! But I knew this was not the right way to treat a dog.

Pablo is taken away

As time went by, my love for Pablo increased, but his presence in our home started to cause conflicts. I argued a lot with my mom, who was against having a dog as a pet for many reasons. She never liked dogs, and on top of that Islam does not encourage owning dogs because they are “unclean.” According to our prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) angels will not enter a house with a dog in it. Another rule in Islam is that if a dog touches you or licks you need to wash seven times, and one of them must be with sand.

My mother also objected to Pablo because taking care of him required a lot of effort and time. She thought that the dog would distract me from my studies at the university. She said I needed to focus on more important things than Pablo, and that I was spending too much time with him. Honestly, I knew all of that, but I didn’t care. I loved Pablo so much and I wasn’t willing to give up on him or to give him away.

One day my mother and I had a big fight about Pablo, and she said, “It’s either me or the dog in this house.” She told my father that the dog must leave. After a lot of arguing I knew that I would lose Pablo. With a face full of tears, I went to the roof to say goodbye to my dog.

While my father was driving Pablo back to my uncle, I was home alone. I was so sad and angry I couldn’t see anything but black. I threw my phone at the wall and started beating up my mattress to release some of the frustration, but that wasn’t enough for me. I have a concrete pillar in my room, and with no hesitation, I started punching the pillar, throwing punches as hard as I could, kicking it with anger and a force that could move a mountain. I didn’t stop until my hand started bleeding, hurting to the point that I realized what I was doing. I stopped for a second and crouched to the floor in grief and pain, but the pain wasn’t in my hands or legs, it was in my heart. Minutes passed, and I started to pull myself together, and took a cold shower to help calm myself down.

My family came home to see me sad in a way they had never seen me; my brow was furrowed and I had a flaming heat of anger in my eyes. The only thing that really calmed me down was when my father told me that the next day I could go and bring Pablo home. When I heard this, I flipped 180 degrees, and got excited for the next day.

When I went to my uncle’s house to see Pablo, he told me, “He refused to eat, drink, or even move or play.”

When Pablo heard my voice, he started barking like crazy and jumping around to the point where he almost broke the chain he was held with. When I got closer, I unleashed him, so he jumped at me as if he was hugging me and I hugged him back then he started running around in the yard. My smile was from ear to ear knowing I would take him home. We were so happy to be together again.

A few months later, Pablo had grown even larger, and I changed where he lived. Instead of on the roof, he stayed in the small yard behind the house. Now he was old enough and big enough to take him on walks in the neighborhood.

I still remember the first time I took him to the sea; I chose a day in the middle of the week so there would be fewer people there. When we arrived at the shore, he started sniffing the sand and running back and forth with the waves. As it was his first time at the beach, he was terrified of the water and the sound of the waves, but overall, he seemed to like the long walk we had.

After a second chance, Pablo is taken away again

Pablo made decent progress with our training, but I couldn’t make him stop barking, and here is where the big problem started. At this time, Pablo was one year and three months old, and over the past month he had barked all night for no reason that I could figure out. I would go down to check on him, but there was nothing at all. I could see him from my bedroom window and sometimes he barked at a person walking in the street or a cat passing by, but most of the time it seemed he was barking at nothing.

Eventually the neighbors started to complain. They approached my father and told him that Pablo’s barking in the night disturbed their sleep. They said either he had to stop barking or they would report it to the local cops and the police would put him down.

A terrible wound in my soul

My father decided that the dog must go, and we talked about my soon having to say goodbye to Pablo. Two days later I went out in the morning to an important meeting that I couldn’t miss, and 30 minutes into the meeting my phone rang. It was my father, who had called me to tell me that my uncle was there to take Pablo away. I felt my heart being torn out of my chest. It was shocking that my father took Pablo from me without allowing me to say goodbye to him. After the meeting I went straight home, and the street was quiet without Pablo barking to greet me.

At the same time as I was losing Pablo, I was also going through my first romantic breakup. There was a terrible wound in my soul, and I was confused about whether I was suffering from losing my first girlfriend or because of the loss of my dog. It was probably both.

Until that time I had never experienced the unconditional love that others talked about, but Pablo changed my beliefs. I had finally received love in its purest form, not from a girlfriend who was fickle, not from a brother or sister, not even from a mother. In my case I found this bond with my dog.

Later that day, I went to my uncle’s house, where Pablo is right now and where he will stay. I went there to see him and to say goodbye to my dearest friend. I unleashed him and we hugged, played together, and ran together, but this time was not like the previous one. This time I knew I couldn’t take him back home with me.

Now, every single day I go out I look at his place in the yard and miss our times together. I used to greet him every morning, and I would pet him every time I left or arrived home. Now all I have are the feelings that I failed him, along with his pictures and some of the best memories of my life.