The Old Dog at the End of the Shelter Row

Microwave dinner.

Television noise.

Sleep.

Repeat.

People called my life peaceful.

But peaceful and lonely can look almost identical after enough years pass.

That Thursday evening, I had gone to the county animal shelter for one reason only: to donate a few bags of dog food and old blankets my sister had collected from her church drive.

That was all.

I had absolutely no intention of bringing an animal home.

At least, that’s what I told myself.