The dog who changed everything.

It started on a surf trip in El Salvador.

But the moment I arrived, I met him — the sickest, skinniest, saddest dog I had ever seen.

He could barely stand.

He wouldn’t eat much.

But every day, I brought him whatever food he’d take, left out water, and sat with him.

He was gentle, sweet, but fading.

And every night, it absolutely killed me to walk away, not knowing how to help him.

The night before I was supposed to fly home, I made a decision.

I realized I couldn’t leave him there.

So I found a transport van willing to take a dog, and a vet in the city who agreed to prepare for him.

The next morning, the entire beach became a search party — my friends, the hotel staff, strangers, locals — all running up and down the sand with me.

I didn’t speak a word of Spanish yet, so I pulled up Google Translate and asked people if they’d seen “the very sick dog.”

A local looked at me and said, “¿Flaco?”

I typed it in — “skinny.”

It was him.

Hours passed. No sign. My friends had to leave.

Everyone climbed into the van to go to the airport.

I told them to go without me. I wasn’t leaving without the dog.

On my very last lap around the beach, as they were loading their bags, a movement came from the bushes.

There he was.

Flaco.

Looking up at me like he had just woken up and knew I was his person.

I scooped him up, ran him to the van, and when I jumped in with him, the entire van — strangers — started crying.

We drove three hours to San Salvador.

At the vet, we translated back and forth on our phones.

They asked me his name.

I thought of the locals.

“Flaco,” I said.

Everyone smiled.

I left him there with one instruction:

Do anything necessary to save him.

I planned to adopt him and bring him home when he was healthy enough.

For the first time ever, he was safe. He had food, water, medicine, and a bed.

And I was full of hope.

The next night, everything changed.

The vet called me, and I couldn’t understand a word — until they typed it out in English:

Flaco had gone into complete organ failure.

He had passed away.

I was devastated.

I thought getting him to safety meant he would survive.

But later, I realized something deeper:

Flaco had been fighting for so long.

And the moment he finally felt love…

the moment he finally felt safe…

his body let go.

On the van ride, after half an hour of shaking in the corner, he crawled into my lap, curled up, and fell asleep.

That was probably the first time he had ever felt loved.

And in the vet clinic, warm and cared for, was probably the first time he had ever felt safe.

His body just couldn’t hold on anymore.

That’s when I made him a promise.

There are countless dogs in the world who will never feel love, a warm bed, or safety — simply because no one reaches them in time.

I know I can’t save every dog.

But for Flaco, I have to try.

I want to find them sooner than I found him.

I want to give them the life I imagined so strongly for him.

Flaco is the inspiration behind everything we do.

He is the heart of this project.

I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner, Flaco.

But I promise to save as many others as I can — in your name.—