She was a waitress. A widowed young mother with a four-year-old daughter.
Her shift was almost done. She was tossing garbage into a dumpster behind the restaurant. She heard something. Whimpering.
She saw a shape in the shadows. She saw four legs. Long ears. It was a stray, and it was hungry. She almost turned around and went back inside. But she didn’t.
The last thing she needed in her life was a dog. She was too busy with a daughter to be bringing home more responsibility. But when this dog looked at her...
Well, you know how dogs are.
She fed him leftovers. The old boy ate his food in only a few bites, and he didn’t run when she pet him.
He was brindle-colored, with a white face. He let her place a leash around his neck. She was going to take him to the shelter, the first thing in the morning, that’s what she told herself. But once she brought him home all bets were
off.
Her daughter named the dog “Dave.”
They placed Dave in the shower. They used expensive shampoo on him, and lavender conditioner. Dave sneezed when they blow-dried him.
That night, she didn’t sleep much. She could see Dave’s silhouette in the darkness, staring at her. She caved.
“You wanna get in bed with us, Dave?”
She patted the bed once. He was beside her before she patted a second time.
“I’ve never really been a dog person,” she tells me. “But Dave just looked at you with that face, and you just fell in love. You know how dogs are.”
Yes. I do.
Dave wore a green collar. He loved to run. They tell me when he was off his leash he could sprint all the way to China and still make it home in time for supper.
That Christmas, Dave…