He was found abandoned in front of a house.
A kind woman took him in and immediately called us.
What we saw when we arrived is difficult to describe.
It was not just sad—it was devastating.
Ares was a shell of a dog. His body had been pushed beyond neglect, into cruelty. He was skeletal, his ribs protruding sharply from hunger. His fur was almost gone, leaving skin covered in mange, scars, and crawling with parasites. He could barely move his fragile legs. His gums were colorless, his body completely dehydrated. His blood tests showed a hematocrit of only 8. He weighed just ten kilograms—ten kilos of bone and pain.
The veterinarians could not understand how he was still alive. He needed an emergency blood transfusion right away. That night was tense, chaotic. Every second was a battle to stabilize him, to give him a fighting chance. Slowly, his numbers improved. He began to eat. For the first time in who knows how long, there was hope.
But hope was fragile.
The next day brought another crisis. His stomach bloated, and we feared a dangerous twist. X-rays showed no torsion, but the swelling was severe. He had to be sedated, a tube inserted to release the trapped gas. From that moment, his diet would need to be managed with the utmost care.
Through it all, Ares remained gentle, cooperative, almost as if he knew we were trying to help him. He endured his first medicated bath calmly, letting us treat his mange. For a dog who had suffered so much, this small comfort was a gift.
We named him Ares. A warrior. Because that was what he was.
Little by little, he began to breathe on his own, his vital signs stabilizing. No more nausea, no more vomiting. Every small victory gave us reason to believe. We encouraged him daily, whispering, “Come on, Ares. We believe in you.”
And Ares surprised us, again and again.
We celebrated when his tail wagged for the first time. We celebrated when he stood up without being held. We celebrated every meal he ate by himself. These were not small things—they were miracles for a dog who had come so close to death.
Weeks passed. His X-rays showed broken ribs that had begun to heal naturally. His digestive system was still delicate, but manageable. He continued his antibiotics and medications. His fur started to regrow, soft against skin that was finally healing.
And then, the moment we had all waited for: Ares walked. On his own. Step by step, shaky at first, but determined. It wasn’t magic. It was time. Commitment. Care. Money. Dedication. And Ares himself—his will to live.
Two months earlier, we had promised him that one day he would walk out of the clinic on his own four paws. That day arrived. Surrounded by cheers and tears, Ares left the clinic not as a victim, but as a survivor.
And he wasn’t leaving alone. He was going to a new home. A family had been waiting for him, ready to give him the life he deserved.
From the moment he met them, his happiness was undeniable. He trusted them instantly, his heart already full of love. He had survived cruelty, neglect, and near death—and now, he had parents who cared for him deeply.
Today, Ares thrives. His new family spoils him with baths, creams for his skin, homemade meals, and soft clothes. They take him on walks. They give him comfort. They give him love.
He is about five years old now. He has lived through hardships no animal should ever endure. But he lives. He plays. He trusts. And he continues to receive regular checkups to ensure his health.
The saddest part is that his abuser was never found. The one who inflicted so much suffering still walks free. But Ares no longer looks back. He has left that darkness behind. His life now is about joy, not pain.
Ares’s journey reminds us all of something vital: recovery takes time, patience, resources, and above all, love. He is living proof that even the most broken can rise again—stronger, happier, and whole.
From the edge of death to the arms of a family, Ares’s story is not just about survival. It is about transformation.
And today, when we look at him, we no longer see scars and suffering. We see a warrior. We see hope. We see life.
