The Old Dog at the End of the Shelter Row

He wasn’t begging.

Wasn’t barking.

Wasn’t scratching at the kennel.

He simply watched the front door.

Like he was waiting for someone specific.

A young shelter worker noticed me standing there.

“He’s sweet,” she said softly. “Very calm.”

“What happened to him?” I asked.

Her expression changed immediately.

“His owner went into assisted living three weeks ago.”