I really didn’t expect to post all of this so publicly, but I’m at a strange point in my life where sharing might actually help me process everything.
So… here we go.
My family has always been big on rescue animals. Growing up, I remember my parents inviting in every stray they found on the sidewalk. Sometimes they found a rescue that wasn’t a great fit, so they’d help nurse it to health and then find it a more appropriate home. But they never turned an animal away just because it seemed “unadoptable” or because it looked a certain way. That’s something I really admired about my folks.
When I moved out, I kind of figured I’d follow in those same footsteps. Over the years, I’ve brought various little creatures into my tiny apartment—some stayed permanently, some I fostered. I’m not afraid of the mess. I’m not afraid of the work. It’s just… me. I guess that’s where this entire journey began.
A couple of months ago, I came across a dog with the shiniest midnight-black fur I’d ever seen in my life. She had the brightest, most curious eyes, as if she was always just a moment away from unveiling a comedic side. She was small—smaller than the photos I had first seen suggested—but had these oversized ears that flopped whenever she got excited. She had such an energy to her, like she desperately wanted to love people and get it back in return.
I felt an instant pull. Like, that flutter in your chest that just screams: “This one’s special. Help her out.” It sounds silly, but that’s how I’ve always judged these things. I go with my gut, and this time it told me that this pup belonged with me—at least for a while.
I took her in, fully intending to foster her until I could find the right person or family who’d appreciate all that sparkle she carried. I kept telling myself, “Don’t get too attached,” because I already have two other dogs, and my living space doesn’t really allow for a huge pack. “Maybe in a different life,” I’d keep thinking, “but right now, I’ll just be her stepping stone.”
Yet from day one, I realized something was off. I posted about her on different community boards. I told my friends about her. I even tried taking her to local adoption events. And while everyone acknowledged she was adorable… well, you’d be surprised how many people actually turned away the moment they realized how her fur really looked up close. She’s entirely black, from the tip of her nose to the bottom of her paws. Her entire muzzle, her ears, her tail—everything is that glossy black. She has a little patch of almost-gray on her chin, but you can only see it if you look really closely. It’s subtle.
I started hearing bizarre comments like, “Oh, black dogs are bad luck,” or, “Black dogs don’t photograph well, that’s why no one wants them.” Some people even asked if she might be aggressive because “she looks more intimidating.” Others said they’d prefer a different color so they could see expressions more clearly. It broke my heart to realize that so many biases existed in the pet adoption world. And it’s not one or two people who have told me that. I’ve spoken to entire families who admitted they were specifically looking for a lighter-colored dog. Then they’d glance at her, sigh, and say, “She’s cute, but not what we want,” or “Wish she had some spots so she’d show up in pictures better.”
I can’t even describe how painful that is to hear. It’s like, “Wait, so just because she’s black, that’s it? That’s the only reason?!” I look at her face. She’s wagging her tail, eyes practically begging for affection. All the while, families just pass her by, telling me they want a fluffier Golden or a cream-colored husky mix. Or a pup that looks better on Instagram. Hearing that kind of talk… it’s awful.
A few weeks went by, and not a single serious inquiry came in for her. I tried to stay optimistic, but every time I saw her “overlooked” at an event, I felt my heart sink a little more. My fear was that she’d spend months (or years) bouncing around fosters, or even worse, end up in a shelter that was overcrowded. The thought churned my stomach.
I started questioning my own capacity to help her. Could I, or should I, give up? Should I just keep her? But that’s not feasible long-term for me. I’m already financially stretched, and my apartment has breed and size restrictions. I know in my gut I can’t be her forever home, but I also can’t be the person who abandons her. I wouldn’t sleep at night knowing I gave her up to a place where she might be overlooked again and again and again, all because her fur is black.
And yet, that’s the hardest part: I don’t see her as ‘just another black dog’. She’s Ebony (that’s what I call her, at least for now). She’s the pup who greets me at the door and rolls over for belly rubs. She’s the one who sleeps curled at my feet, sighing contentedly when I stroke her ears. She’s the one who, the moment she sees my phone pointed at her for pictures, tilts her head and tries to look sweet (though I’ll admit, black fur can be tricky to photograph, but come on—who cares?).
Every time I see Ebony playing with my other dogs, my mind spins with that mixture of hope and dread. Because it’s beautiful to see them bonding, but I also know I can’t just go along with “everything is fine” forever. The plan was never to keep a third dog in my small space. But… how can I pass her on to an uncertain fate?
It was about a month ago when I hit my lowest point. I went to an adoption fair, and Ebony was her usual playful self. She did her puppy bows, wagged her tail, licked the kids who passed by (if they let her), and flopped down in front of any friendly face. Nothing changed. Some folks were intrigued, but after seeing her fur under the sunlight, it’s like their interest evaporated. One couple even went as far as to say, “She’s lovely, but it’s hard to see her eyes against all that black fur, you know?” I just felt numb. Like, is that really the reason you’re going to pass on a dog who’s just so full of love?
On the drive home, Ebony sensed something was up, because she kept nuzzling my hand on the steering wheel. I caught myself tearing up. I kept thinking, “I can’t keep putting her through the heartbreak of being rejected over and over.” But how else am I supposed to find the right person for her? If I stop taking her out, how would I ever get her adopted?
I ended up going home and venting to a friend. She told me about this phenomenon sometimes called “Black Dog Syndrome,” where black dogs get overlooked in shelters. I guess it makes sense that Ebony is falling into that category. My friend tried to reassure me that Ebony just needs to meet the right person who can see beyond the superficial. At first, that gave me hope. But it’s also a little scary because I don’t know how long it’ll take.
Still, I refuse to give up on her. Because in a world that can be shallow, Ebony is pure sincerity. She doesn’t judge anyone by their appearances. She meets everyone with that same wag of the tail. She’ll run up to you whether you’re wearing tattered jeans or a designer outfit, whether you’re young or old, big or small, quiet or talkative. All she wants is to be someone’s sidekick.
And let me tell you, she’s smart, too. I’ve been working on some training with her in my free time—sit, stay, lay down, etc. Ebony picks up on commands faster than any dog I’ve had before. She basically taught herself to use the puppy pad within a couple of days, and she’s almost fully house-trained at this point. I had a friend visit recently, and Ebony trotted over to them with a toy, wagging her entire body in excitement. My friend was so impressed by how gentle she was. Ebony never jumped or barked excessively—she was polite, like she was intentionally trying to make the best first impression. It’s sweet and also kind of heartbreaking, because she tries so hard to be lovable. She already is lovable, and she doesn’t even realize it.
I’ve had a bit of a rollercoaster with potential adopters. A few people have called me to ask about Ebony, but after I send them a picture, they suddenly stop responding. Others say they’ll “think about it” and never call back. Some people have come by my place to meet Ebony in person, but they either weren’t ready for a dog, or they only wanted a dog that “matched their decor” (yes, that was an actual thing someone said to me—what is wrong with people?).
Despite all this, I still believe Ebony’s person is out there. I have to believe that. Maybe it’s just a matter of timing. Or maybe it’s the luck of meeting the right family who doesn’t care about trending aesthetics. I don’t know. But I can’t give in to despair. That wouldn’t be fair to Ebony. She trusts me. She looks at me with those wise eyes like she believes I’m going to fix everything. And to be honest, I do want to fix everything. For her, I want a future where she has a big yard to run in, a warm bed to curl up on, maybe even some children to romp around with. That vision keeps me going.
So here I am, sharing this in the hope that someone will see Ebony for who she is: a sweet, smart, black-furred pup with so much devotion to give. Every day, I remind myself that somebody out there is going to fall in love with this dog. And not just tolerate her black fur, but adore it. There’s something regal about it if you stop to notice, something so sleek and elegant. If only people would look a little deeper.
In the meantime, I won’t lie—I’m pretty emotionally exhausted. Watching her face fall when families turn away is draining in a way I never anticipated. I know she feels it. Dogs are intuitive like that. But she bounces back quickly, which is more than I can say for myself sometimes.
I guess I’m putting all of this down as a record of my attempts to do right by her. If anyone else has experienced something similar—where you had a gorgeous black dog that people overlooked—maybe you can relate. Maybe this is your sign to root for Ebony from afar. Whatever you believe, I ask you to send good vibes or a small prayer or whatever you do to wish us luck.
Will Ebony find her forever home tomorrow? Next week? Next month? I can’t answer that yet. But I do know I’m not going to quit on her. Even if it means rearranging my life a bit longer, I’m committed to seeing this through. She deserves so much more than being passed over for something as silly as her fur color.
I’ll keep everyone posted (and thank you if you’re still reading at this point—I know this is long!). In my heart, I feel like our little story isn’t done. There’s so much hope left. Maybe an amazing family will contact me tomorrow. Maybe I’ll stumble upon them in the park. Maybe Ebony’s new life is just around the corner.
For now, I’m taking it day by day, giving Ebony the love she didn’t know she needed, and trusting that eventually, there will be a happy ending to all of this.
And if that happy ending isn’t exactly what we expect… well, that might just make the story all the more beautiful.