How My Dog’s Death Became the Reason I Answered That Unknown Call

I’ve been in pet care and pet products for over ten years—long before “pet parenting” became a personality and before everyone started calling their dog their “son.”

Back when I started, we didn’t have fancy grain-free dog food debates or TikTok vets shouting in the comments. We had trial, error, scars, and one stubborn animal teaching us humility.

Two nights ago, that experience almost failed me.

It was raining—the annoying Lagos rain that pretends it will stop but never does. I had just finished reviewing a new pet grooming kit for my blog, the kind brands swear is “vet-approved” but somehow still scares animals like horror movie props.

My dog, Bruno, a mixed-breed rescue with trust issues and expressive eyes, was lying by the door.

Then my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I ignored it.

It rang again.

I picked up.

“Oga, are you the pet guy?” a panicked male voice asked.

“I’m listening,” I said, already standing up.

“My dog just collapsed. Please, I saw your article on emergency pet care. I don’t know what to do.”

That article—written at 2 a.m. five years ago after I lost my first dog to something I misread as “small vomiting.” I still remembered typing with shaky hands.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Gbagada Phase 2.”

I grabbed my rain jacket, Bruno’s leash, and my old pet first aid kit—the same one people always mock in my pet product reviews as “extra.”

“Send your location. I’m coming.”

Bruno looked up at me like, So we’re doing this again?

The house we arrived at smelled like panic and wet fur. A young guy—Gen Z, hoodie, cracked phone screen—was kneeling beside a trembling brown dog.

“She won’t stand,” he said. “I bought her the cheapest dog food I could find online. The reviews were five stars.”

I sighed. Not for him—for how familiar that mistake was.

I knelt down, checked the dog’s gums, breathing, belly tension.

“Has she eaten today?”

“Yes.”

“What brand?”

He named it.

I winced.

“That’s not dog food,” I said gently. “That’s filler wearing marketing.”

He looked like I slapped him with guilt.

I mixed electrolytes, showed him how to keep her warm, talked him through calming strokes—real pet care, not influencer fluff.

“She needs a vet,” I said. “Now.”

On the way, in the back of the car, he kept apologizing to his dog.

“I thought I was doing enough. I bought toys. Bowls. A fancy leash.”

I nodded.

“Most people buy pet products. Few learn pet care.”

At the clinic, the vet confirmed it—food-related complications. Treatable. Barely.

When the dog stabilized, the guy sat beside me, eyes red.

“I found you through your comparison guide on best dog food for sensitive stomachs,” he said. “I just… didn’t read it fully.”

I smiled tiredly.

“No one reads warnings until life forces subtitles.”

Then came the plot twist.

The vet called my name.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

I looked closer.

It was her.

The vet intern who had helped me ten years ago when my first dog died. The night that broke me. The reason I started writing honest pet care guides, reviewing pet supplies, and warning people against cheap shortcuts.

She smiled softly.

“You taught me that loss can become purpose.”

I laughed, eyes burning.

“And you saved his dog today.”

Outside, rain finally stopped.

The guy hugged his dog.

“I’m deleting that app,” he said. “I’ll follow your recommendations properly.”

I patted Bruno’s head as he wagged like he approved.

That night, I updated my blog—not with affiliate links first, but with a real story.

Because after ten years in pet care and pet products, I’ve learned this:

Your pet doesn’t care about branding.

Algorithms don’t clean wounds.

And love without knowledge is just good intentions wearing a leash.

Sometimes, the best pet product review is a life still breathing beside you.