On Tuesday night, we learned our neighbor had surrendered his 11-month-old “Dalmatian” to the shelter due to frustration with the dog’s behavior. By Wednesday, calls to both local shelters revealed he wasn’t there. That evening, the neighbor provided his original adoption paperwork, but the updated receipt needed to reclaim the dog was missing. Thursday, the shelter finally admitted the dog was present but wouldn’t allow a visit until the following day.
My strong desire to rescue this dog stemmed from the previous Friday. He had appeared in the rain, nosing around my trash. Upon my stepping onto the porch, he immediately ran over and sat perfectly at my feet, looking up with large eyes. He wore a collar but lacked tags and had a strong odor. I secured him with a leash on the porch and went inside to create a “found dog” sign.
Shortly after, loud banging on my screen door alerted me – he had broken his collar to follow me. As I had to leave for work, I woke my husband, asking him to bathe the dog and watch him. That day, the dog played happily with our two dogs, Toby and Megan.
That evening, a neighbor helped locate his owner, who complained about the dog’s troublesome behavior, including rolling in feces, escaping his leash, and making messes. The poor dog appeared very sad while being scolded and called “Spots.”
I offered to share training videos and provide assistance, but we received no response until Tuesday, when the owner returned the videos to my husband and informed him he had taken Spots back to the shelter. At only 11 months old, this dog was now facing his third potential home.
He had been wonderful with us and had developed a close bond with Toby, our smaller dog. I felt strongly that he deserved better, so I resolved to get him out of the shelter, even if it meant finding a new home for him myself.
On Friday, I was finally permitted to visit him. Following a peculiar delay where he had to “prove” his ability to be caged by defecating in one, I was led to the meeting room at 3 PM.
The instant he saw me, he let out a squeal, rushed over, and hugged me, burying his face in my neck. He remembered me! Then, something remarkable occurred. I called, “Spots, come!” but he didn’t respond. When I said, “Casey, come!” he turned, ran over, and sat perfectly at my feet. That was the name I had used the previous week, and he had claimed it as his own.
That day, Casey became a member of our family. For nine wonderful years, he filled our home with love, laughter, and joy. He and Toby had a special tradition of howling together every evening until Casey passed away from a brain tumor at the age of 9. Afterward, Toby never howled again.
Casey’s time with us was too short, but his impact was immense. He was the dog no one else wanted, yet he became the dog we could never forget.
Sometimes, those most in need of love become our greatest treasures. Never underestimate the power of a second chance. ❤️