Nia wasn’t looking for a dog. She was just doing her job.
It was a humid Thursday in Atlanta, and Nia—an up-and-coming event coordinator—was setting up for a neighborhood street market. As she unloaded tables near an alleyway, she heard the softest whimper coming from behind a stack of pallets. At first, she thought it was a cat. But then out waddled a tiny, muddy puppy—all ears, all eyes, and barely big enough to carry a stick.
He looked up at her, wagged his tail once, and collapsed in the shade.
Nia called local rescues, but everyone was full. She bought a bottle of water, a rotisserie chicken, and a leash from the nearest store—and named him Koda by sundown.
He came home with her that night.
Koda was skittish at first—startled by street noise and unsure about hardwood floors. But he quickly warmed to Nia’s energy: calm, steady, patient. They synced up like they’d always known each other. Koda now follows her from room to room, naps on her feet during Zoom calls, and has a growing collection of squeaky toys he insists on bringing to bed.
“I didn’t rescue him,” Nia often says. “He rescued me from my own burnout. He reminded me to slow down—and laugh.”