Chapter 7 – Healing, Changes, and a Place We Call Home
Hey guys, it’s your favorite dog Ozzy speaking 🐾
I know the previous chapter was a bit heavy and painful, maybe even hard to read at moments. But life doesn’t stop when things hurt — and neither do we. We keep moving forward. Slowly, sometimes clumsily, but always forward.
After all the pain, trauma, hospital visits, doctors, waiting rooms, fear, and exhaustion — for both me and my mom — something unexpected finally arrived. A feeling of relief. A quiet one at first, almost shy, but real.
We believed things would get better.
And just like I promised you at the end of Chapter 6 — they did.
So now, let me tell you what happened next.
My mom started getting better. Not overnight, not magically, but truly better — physically and mentally. I could see it in the way she moved, the way she breathed, the way she smiled more often. She became active again, present, alive.
She was still working from home for the same company that once drove her crazy. Not really the company itself — but the people, the pressure, the constant noise. Somehow, she found a way to detach from all that drama. She learned how to protect her peace. And let me tell you — that changed everything.
Day by day, she improved.
At work.
Around the house.
On our daily walkies 🐕
She started working out regularly, discovered new hobbies, filled her days with things that made her feel good instead of drained. And somehow, she still had time for friends, family, her boyfriend — and of course, me. Always me. I never stopped being her center.
The year 2025 wasn’t easy for us. It had ups and downs, good days and really tough ones. It wasn’t fantastic, but it was real. And we managed.
My mom gave her best. For herself. And for me.
In September, a big decision was made. My mom and Oliver decided to move in together, into his apartment in Temerin. That alone was a huge step. New place, new routine, new everything.
Naturally, my mom was worried. I mean… the apartment already had a fish tank full of fish and — even worse — a CAT. 😼
Not just that. A million questions were spinning in her head. How will Ozzy react? Will he be stressed? Will the animals get along? What if it doesn’t work?
She told Oliver very clearly:
“Ozzy is my number one priority. If this doesn’t work, we are going home. I won’t put him through unnecessary stress.”
And that was that. They agreed on everything.
They packed up their lives, moved clothes, furniture, memories — everything — from Novi Sad to Temerin. They even built a DIY fence just for me.
And no — it’s not scary.
It’s not a cage or a prison.
It’s more like a home inside a home.
My mom knows me. She always knows what’s best for me ❤️
After all the preparation, moving, explaining the situation to everyone — we found ourselves in a new apartment, in a new town, once again starting from zero.
I adapted to the fence pretty quickly. I knew it was there to keep everyone safe. But the cat… oh, the cat.
Her name is NeMacka. I don’t hate her. Really. But she’s terrified of me. And since I’m a bulldog, I can’t exactly pretend I don’t have instincts.
My mom worries we’ll never bond.
My dad — Oliver — believes we’ll become friends one day.
I guess time will tell 🤷♂️
The fish? Completely boring.
I’ve noticed my mom staring at the tank many times, totally fascinated. I honestly don’t get it. They just float around and open their mouths. But hey — humans are strange creatures.
We spent about a month and a half there. Mom was still working from home, but now she felt something different. The job started feeling boring, meaningless, like it was making her smaller instead of growing her. She wanted to quit — but fear crept in. What next? What if she fails?
On top of that, she was alone with all of us pets most of the day. Feeding, cleaning, calming, training, waiting for Oliver to come home. Then walkies. Then responsibilities. Stress slowly returned.
She was overwhelmed — but she didn’t give up.
And then… it happened again.
In November 2025, my mom had to go through another surgery. It wasn’t as terrifying as the first one, but it was still surgery. Anesthesia again. Recovery again. Six long weeks.
Boom.
Back to Novi Sad.
Back to resting.
And me — back with my grandparents.
But this time was different.
Lea was okay. Truly okay. Stable. Stronger — physically and mentally — than the first time. A week after the surgery, she had to go through another painful medical procedure. No anesthesia this time.
Mom and I didn’t see each other for seven and a half long weeks.
She called every single day to check on me.
Even though she was the one in pain.
Even though she was stuck in bed.
She held on incredibly well. Later, she told me something important. She felt a change inside. Like something finally shifted. She became calmer, stronger, more grounded.
Her goal was simple:
to heal,
to survive,
to come back for me.
My queen 👑 — my mom.
She didn’t fail me. Not once.
She powered through everything and made clear, brave decisions. She quit her shitty (pardon my French 😅) job at the end of November. She focused on healing. And by mid-December, we were back in Temerin — together again.
Life could finally begin.
From scratch.
But still ours.
A new chapter.
A new era.
And honestly?
So far — so good.
Mom is happier without constant stress. Oliver and her are building their lives, working on projects, dreaming, planning. They travel when they can, and during those times I stay with grandma and grandpa — who spoil me endlessly, obviously 🐾
Our family is good.
Actually… we’re leaning toward awesome 💛
We believe.
And together, we’ll make it all work.
To anyone reading this who is battling in silence — go slow. Day by day. Be strong. Be kind. Do it for yourself, for your loved ones, for your pets. For the sake of kindness itself.
Spread love. Spread hope.
Together, we can do so much more ❤️
I love you all. Thank you for reading and for being here. Have a lovely year filled with the people — and animals — you love.
And always remember:
love and health are the only two things that truly matter.
Your Ozzy speaking.
No jokes. 🐶💙
