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How an Unwanted Shelter Dog Broke Free, Found Us on Our Porch, and Became Family for Nine Beautiful Years.

The Dog Who Chose Us

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It started the Friday before Easter. That morning, I stepped onto my porch to find a soaking wet, foul-smelling “Dalmatian” sniffing around my garbage. When he spotted me, he trotted over and sat perfectly at my feet, nose lifted hopefully, as if to say, “Well? Can I come in?”

He wore a collar, but no tags. Reeking of something truly awful, he was a mess — but there was such gentle eagerness in his eyes. I clipped him to our porch leash and went inside to make a sign, hoping his owner might see it.

Minutes later, I heard pounding at the door. The spotted dog had broken his collar and was now flinging himself at the screen, desperate to be near us. I had to leave for work, but it was Good Friday, so my husband was home. I woke him up, asked him to bathe our visitor, and said we’d figure things out.

All day, the dog romped happily in our yard with our two dogs, Toby and Megan. That evening, we put up signs. Before long, a neighbor pointed me to the dog’s home. His owner was frustrated, complaining he rolled in poop, escaped his tie-out, and wrecked the house. When I returned the dog — who cowered at being called “Spots” — I offered to help. I even brought over dog training videos and said he could visit on my days off.

Isabella Guerini

We didn’t hear anything more — until Tuesday. That night, the neighbor returned our videos and mentioned he’d taken Spots back to the shelter after yet another mess. It would be the poor dog’s third home at just 11 months old.

But we knew how sweet he’d been with us — how he and Toby especially clicked, Toby finally having a gentle buddy who played at his pace. I decided I’d get him out of there myself, even if just to find him a better home.

The next few days were a tangle of calls and dead ends. By Thursday, the shelter finally admitted he was there but wouldn’t let me see him until Friday. When I arrived, they made me wait for hours, saying he needed to “prove he could tolerate a cage by pooping in it.” At 3 PM, they finally brought him into the meeting room.

Hi, I am looking to rehome a senior dog (spayed female Dalmatian 13 years  old) she has her rabies shot UTD and is currently on Galliprant for her  arthritis. Her previous owner

The moment the spotted dog saw me, he squealed and practically launched into my arms, burying his face in my neck. Tears sprang up — it was so clear he remembered.

When I called, “Spots, come!” he didn’t move. But when I tried, “Casey, come!” — the name I’d casually used that first day — he ran straight over and sat perfectly at my feet. As if to say, “This is who I am. I’m yours.”

So Casey came home for good.

He was with us for nine wonderful years. Mischievous, brilliant, endlessly affectionate. He and Toby were inseparable, often howling together at dusk, their own private concert. When Casey passed from a brain tumor at nine, Toby never howled again. That nightly duet had belonged to the two of them alone.

Casey’s time with us was far too short, but he filled every year with joy, laughter, and a deep sense of belonging — for him, and for us. Some dogs you choose. Others choose you. Casey chose us, and we’ll never forget it.

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