The dog found us—or we found him— I’m not really sure. He sat under a cedar tree by the side of the road on a morning in spring, his young body scarily thin. He had worn the dirt smooth under the tree, waiting for someone—for us —to take him home.
“He’s so pretty,” Sarah, my wife, said. “What’s he doing here?” But she knew, we both knew. This was in the country, a quarter-mile from our mailbox, no houses in sight, a place where people dumped deer carcasses, beer cans and unwanted dogs.
Sarah wanted to stop, but we were late.
“He’ll be there when we come back,” I said.
Somehow I just knew. So we didn’t stop.
Two hours later, he was still there. He came right to us hyper with joy, jumping and licking. He was nervous and unsure, but never really afraid. He had a perfect curl of golden tail, a velvety blond muzzle, and Labrador ears on a rounded Labrador head on an otherwise German Shepherd body.
via Whisker Therapy