I was simply instructed to gather garbage bags and cat litter. End of story. In-and-out. However, when I entered the Walmart lot, I saw a huge, scruffy dog waiting at the cart return for someone who never came.
No barking. Stayed put. Just watched every car like it could be the one.
I walked slowly, hands out. He remained calm. Just gazed up at me with tired, doubtful eyes. He leaned his whole body against me when I squatted to check for a tag, like he’d been holding himself together all day and simply let go.
Then—he hugged my leg.
I’m serious. He had his paw on my shin and his chin on my knee, like he had chosen, “You,” right then. You’re okay.”
Animal control reported receiving a call that morning. One witness observed a vehicle leave him at the lot’s edge. Collarless, chipless. Nothing.
They said they would analyze and start the procedure with him. He terrified as they led him away. Positioned himself and faced me.
I didn’t feel dog-ready. As he circled my leg, I felt like his only possession. I couldn’t quit.
I just asked the police, “What happens if no one claims him?”
The officer hesitated, looking at me and the dog. “If not adopted within 72 hours, he could be euthanized.” Words hit me like a gut punch. This was a live being that trusted me enough to cling to my leg despite having every reason to distrust humans after what he’d gone through.
I said, “Can I take him home?” without thinking. It seemed dangerous and impulsive—exactly what I dreaded. My apartment complex permitted dogs, but I wasn’t planning on acquiring one soon. There was something about his face that made me say yes.
My quick choice astonished the officer, who blinked. Are you sure? He needs patience, care, and even training. Do you feel ready?
I looked down at him again. His eyes met me as his tail pounded pathetically on the pavement. I answered, “Yeah,” gently. “I think.”
I drove home with a 70-pound mutt drooling on my passenger seat. On the way, I named him Rufus. He was simple, strong, and reliable, so it suited.
The easiest roommate I had was Rufus. Certainly, there were obstacles. He chewed up my sneakers (due to boredom), knocked down a light while chasing his tail, and ate a whole loaf of bread off the counter. He also made my heart expand, so it didn’t matter.
Like the day I arrived home from work anxious and fatigued to find him waiting by the door, wagging his tail so vigorously it wiggled. He would snuggle up with me on the couch, placing his head on my lap to tell me I wasn’t alone. Rufus gradually become a family dog.
Rufus stopped dead in his tracks on our nighttime neighborhood walk. He listened and sniffed the air frantically. He ran toward an alley before I could figure out what had captivated his interest. “Rufus!” I shouted, chasing him.
I understood why he ran when I caught up. A six-year-old child crouched against the wall, crying. Rufus was nearby, softly poking the youngster with his nose. The child sniffled and tentatively caressed Rufus’ head. “It’s okay,” I said, crouching alongside them. “What’s wrong?”
The youngster cried as he recounted that he got lost after leaving his mom at the park. Rufus comforted us silently till we found the boy’s panicked mother a few blocks away. She hugged her kid passionately and thanked us, while Rufus wagged his tail to signify mission done.
We got another twist a few weeks later. I saw a shelter post one night while browsing social media. They were searching for Max, a golden retriever mix that resembled Rufus. Max’s silly grin was seen in a backyard fetch shot attached to the post.
Churned stomach. Could Rufus be Max? Does that suggest someone is still looking for him? Part of me wanted to disregard the post and pretend not to notice it. Rufus was doing well. He had a house, routine, and lover. What if restoring him meant losing him forever?
Deep down, I knew I couldn’t keep him if he belonged to someone else. Next day, I contacted the shelter to meet Max’s owners.
I expected heartache when they came. Instead of wrath or condemnation, the couple thanked me. “We’ve been looking everywhere for him,” the woman added, crying as she hugged Rufus—or Max. “Thank you for caring for him.”
As they told me the story, things fell into place. Max vanished months before while camping. After much searching, they concluded that he might never return. The individuals who dropped him at Walmart were frantic passerby who found him injured on the road and didn’t know what to do.
Owners told me Max would be well-cared for. I knew saying goodbye was right, even though it was the hardest thing I’d ever done.
I miss Rufus—Max—terribly in the days that followed. Without him, my flat was deafeningly quiet. However, my door was knocked one day. Max’s owners were there with two leashes when I opened it. Two similar golden mix dogs with bouncing tails and endless energy were behind them.
“We thought you might need a new friend,” he smiled. Max’s puppies. We can’t keep them all, so we decided… Well, you showed you’re good at dogs.”
Kneeling to welcome the pups brought tears. One quickly attacked my leg, wrapping herself around it as Rufus—er, Max—had in the Walmart parking lot.
Sometimes life delivers curveballs that are blessings. Despite the pain, losing Rufus taught me that love is about doing what’s best for those you love. And having these two precious babies showed me that letting go often brings something great.
The lesson I’ll remember: Trust your gut, open your heart, and welcome change—even if it means letting go. Because sometimes losing something makes room for what we need.
