A few days ago, I wrote that it would be unfair to compare any other dog to Haris.
I wrote that what we had shared was something destined. Something that could never be repeated.
None of that has changed.
Haris was, and always will be, Haris.
But life, in its own mysterious way, decided to remind me of something.
Love isn’t divided. It multiplies.
Some things happen that simply cannot be explained as coincidence.
On Monday, exactly one month after Haris passed away, I came across a post about a dog at a shelter.
On Wednesday, Alexandra saw it.
She sent me a message on Messenger in complete shock.
She thought it was Haris.
I woke up, saw her message, and before I even opened the post, I assumed someone had found photos of Haris and had made a tribute to him.
Then I opened it…
I started reading…
And I burst into tears.
I couldn’t believe how much he looked like him.
The same colours in the same places.
…same face.
…same eyes.
…same ears.
Even the same little white “socks” on his paws.
Alexandra and I had agreed that if we ever adopted another dog, we’d talk about it after the summer.
And honestly…
I was still hesitant.
I wanted to.
But I was afraid.
I called the shelter immediately.
He was at SPAZ Glyfada.
We arranged to meet him at seven that evening.
From the moment I saw the post until the moment I arrived there, I felt like a little kid.
I couldn’t believe I was finally going to meet him.
My mother insisted on coming with me.
“Don’t have a heart attack,” she kept saying.
At exactly seven o’clock we arrived.
The volunteer was already waiting for us in the parking lot.
I parked…
Looked through the car window…
And we were both stunned.
It’s Haris…
We got out and walked into a fenced area so they could let him off the leash.
A second volunteer joined us.
Without me telling her a single thing about Haris…
She gently stroked his muzzle, smiled, and said:
“Lucky boy… You’re going home.”
I just stared at her.
How could she tell, after only two minutes, that I was going to adopt him?
I hadn’t said a word.
And as if that wasn’t enough…
He was two to three years old.
Exactly the same age Haris had been when I first met him.
Fifteen kilos.
Exactly the same weight.
Then a thought crossed my mind.
“Let me see his tail…”
Haris had a tiny patch of white fur about halfway down his tail.
No bigger than a grape.
I lifted his tail…
…and there it was.
Exactly the same mark.
I spent an hour with him.
Out of those sixty minutes, he spent fifty-eight glued to my side.
As if he had known me for years.
At one point I stood up and walked a couple of metres away.
He got up.
Walked over.
And leaned against me again.
His name was Fox.
But from yesterday…
His name is Aris.
And already…
It feels as though he has always belonged here.
He walks around the house with incredible confidence.
As if he has always been protecting this place.
Wherever I go, he follows me.
Last night we went for a long walk.
The kind of walk I had missed so much.
A normal walk.
A healthy walk.
Without wondering whether he’d get tired.
Whether he’d fall.
Whether I’d have to carry him.
Whether he’d be in pain.
Just… carefree.
For a moment, I felt guilty for feeling so happy.
Then I thought…
That’s exactly what Haris would have wanted.
There is no replacement.
He isn’t Haris.
He is Aris.
And he is an incredible dog.
He reminds me of Haris in so many ways.
But instead of reopening the wound…
He warms my heart.
He fills it again.
I truly believe that our best days are still ahead of us.
And once again, a dog has been saved from a shelter.
Only this time…
Just as happened years ago with Haris…
Perhaps, in the end…
He saved us a little, too.
One Haris then…
One Aris today…
Both came into our lives from a shelter.
Both taught us, each in their own way, what unconditional love truly means.
Grandpa… Haris…
Thank you. ❤️
Orestis Papavasiliou Orelse
