On Tuesday night we found out our neighbor had given up his 11-month-old Dalmatian to the shelter. At first the shelters said they didn’t have him, and it wasn’t until Thursday that I finally learned the truth. By then my heart was set on helping him.
Why did I care so much about this dog? Just the Friday before he showed up at my house in the rain, wet and smelly, poking around my garbage. When I stepped outside, he ran right over, sat down at my feet, and looked up at me with the sweetest eyes. He wore a collar with no tags. I leashed him, planning to make signs and find his owner, but he broke free and came pounding at my door like he had already chosen me.
Since it was Good Friday my husband was home, so I asked him to give the spotted boy a bath and keep him safe until we could figure things out. He spent the whole day happily playing with our two dogs in the yard. That evening we learned where he belonged, but when we returned him the owner shouted at him and called him “Spots.” The poor pup cowered, and my heart sank. I even brought over training videos and offered to help, but we didn’t hear from them again until Tuesday when we learned he had been sent back to the shelter.
By Friday I went to see him. After a strange delay, they finally brought him to me. The second he spotted me, he squealed, ran straight into my arms, and buried his face in my neck. When I called “Spots” he ignored me, but when I said “Casey” the name I had used briefly the week before he came running and sat perfectly at my feet. That was the moment I knew he was meant to be ours.
Casey came home with us that day. He was part of our family for 9 wonderful years until we lost him to a brain tumor. He was smart, mischievous, and endlessly loving. He bonded deeply with our smaller dog Toby, and every evening the two would howl together like it was their little ritual. After Casey passed, Toby never howled again.
Casey’s time was too short, but he filled our home with joy and left a pawprint on our hearts that will never fade.