It all started on a rainy Friday morning. I stepped outside to the sound of sniffing and soft rustling near my garbage bins. There, sitting perfectly still despite the downpour, was a young spotted dog. Wet, filthy, collar on but no tags, he looked up at me with a kind of hopeful desperation. Then he ran over and did a perfect sit at my feet—nose in the air, as if waiting for approval.

I leashed him to the porch using one of our dog’s extra leads and rushed inside to make a “found dog” sign. He smelled awful—like garbage and something worse—but there was something gentle in his eyes. As I was taping the sign to our front door, there was a sudden pounding sound. The dog had broken his collar, clawing at our screen door, desperate not to be left behind.

It was Good Friday. I had to go to work, but my husband was home. I woke him up with a simple request: “Can you give this dog a bath? I think he needs us.”

The rest of that day, the spotted dog played in the yard with our two dogs—Toby, our sweet Beagle-Retriever mix, and Megan, our larger and more dominant pup. The new dog gravitated toward Toby immediately, finding a companion who matched his energy and gentleness.

That evening, we began canvassing the neighborhood with signs. A woman pointed us to a house around the block. When I knocked, the man who answered looked annoyed. “That dog?” he grumbled. “He’s a nightmare. Rolls in his own poop, chews everything, escapes every chance he gets.” Then he yelled, “Spots!” and the dog cowered, tail between his legs.

Still, we returned him—he wasn’t ours yet. But I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he cowered at his name. The way he followed me. That look in his eyes.

So I went back, bringing training videos and offering help. “He could visit us on weekends,” I suggested. “Maybe some extra time around other dogs would help.” But I heard nothing… until Tuesday night.

That’s when we learned the man had returned him to the shelter. Frustrated after another accident, he had given up. The dog was only 11 months old.

I called both shelters in the area. Neither admitted to having him. The next evening, the owner confirmed he had returned the dog—but had thrown out the updated receipt. All I had was the original adoption paperwork. The shelter finally acknowledged they had the dog on Thursday, but they wouldn’t let me see him until Friday.

It felt like the longest wait of my life.

When Friday came, I arrived with the paperwork. But I still had to wait. They said they needed to observe him in a cage—to “make sure he could be kenneled” before releasing him for adoption again. It was ridiculous, but I waited.

Finally, at 3 PM, they brought him into a meeting room.

And then it happened.

As soon as he saw me, he squealed. His entire body vibrated with joy as he leapt into my arms and buried his face in my neck. It was as if he was saying, There you are. I found you again. I called out, “Spots, come!” and he just blinked at me. But when I said, “Casey, come!”—a name I had casually used a week earlier—he bolted across the room and sat at my feet, tail wagging furiously.

That was it.

He had chosen his name.

He had chosen us.

That afternoon, Casey came home for good.

He was with us for nine wonderful years. He was smart, mischievous, stubborn, affectionate, and endlessly loyal. He climbed onto counters, opened doors, and could outwit baby gates like a seasoned escape artist. But most of all, he loved—hard, big, and without hesitation.

He and Toby were inseparable. They played like brothers, curled up like puppies at night, and every evening, they would howl together, a duet of pure joy. When Casey passed away from a brain tumor at age 9, something changed in Toby. He never howled again. That song had belonged to both of them.

Today, I still think about the rain-soaked morning, the broken collar, the hesitant name “Casey” that somehow stuck. I think about how this misunderstood pup—nearly thrown away at barely a year old—became one of the brightest lights in our home.

Casey didn’t just find a home. He found a family.
And we’re the lucky ones who got to love him.