Jeffree Wyn Itrich | author | writer | copywriter | ghostwriter | editor

The Eclipse Dog

A couple of weeks before the total eclipse bore down on Texas, I slept in a little later than usual one morning, and when I wandered into the kitchen my husband said, “We had company this morning.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Who?”

“A black dog who followed the car into the garage and greeted me when I got out to go into the house. She was real friendly, and sweet.”

“Where is the dog now?” I asked.

That’s when I learned he and the black dog walked around to all our neighbors who have dogs, asking if the black dog belonged to any of them. She didn’t. Finally, he contacted our Chief of Police who arranged for her to be taken to where the town holds dogs until owners pick them up. The dog was checked for a chip; she didn’t have one. Stray dogs are a big problem in our small town. People are always dumping dogs either in town or on one of the rural farm roads that lead into town.

“What’s going to happen to her now?”

“He said he’d put some notices on local social media and see if anyone responds.”

I immediately went into worry mode. Over the next few hours, I emailed local friends and posted a photo my husband took of the dog on our town’s social media pages. I figured that between the Chief’s posts and mine that we’d find the pup’s owner. Several people commented that she had been wandering around our town for the past couple of weeks. My worry meter went up another notch. Why hadn’t anyone claimed the sweet girl?

After a few hours, I suggested to my husband that we temporarily foster the dog until the owner could be found. With a big backyard and our own dog to play with, we figured it would be a good temporary alternative. My husband called the Chief who told him that a city employee had already taken her to the county dog pound. My heart fell. I’d learned from one of our neighbors that our county dog pound was dangerously overcrowded and had put out a notice that they would have to start euthanizing dogs to make room. It was late in the day. My husband told the Chief that the dog was at risk of being euthanized and asked if he could retrieve the dog. He said that the pound was already closed and he would call in the morning. I just hoped it wouldn’t be too late. I barely slept that night.

Late the next morning we got a call from the Chief that the dog had been retrieved from the pound and was on its way to our home. Not long after a police car pulled into the alley behind our house. A Sergeant got out of the car, opened the back door, and led a big, beautiful, sleek-coated black labrador mix into our fenced yard. She ran up to me, bounced up on her hind legs, placed her big paws on my shoulders and nearly knocked me down licking my whole face.

“She’s sweet, isn’t she?” he commented.

I nodded. “How could anyone abandon this dog?” I asked him, trying to fend off the incessant kisses.

“Are you going to keep her?” he asked.

“Oh no, we already have this guy,” I pointed to our dog running circles around the black dog. “And we have two cats that would not take kindly to another dog in the house.”

“What are you going to do with her?”

“Try to find her a new home. We couldn’t let her stay in that shelter.”

The Sergeant looked down hesitantly. “Would you let me know if you don’t find anyone? I’d take her.”

He pulled out his wallet and showed us a photo of a black dog that could have been the twin of the black dog standing in my yard. Melancholy filled his eyes as he explained that his black dog had recently passed away and he’d been thinking of getting a new dog. He and the black dog standing next to me exchanged the most adoring, wistful expression.

I didn’t hesitate for a moment. “She’s yours,” I stated.

He looked up at me. “Really?”

I nodded. “There’s no reason to look for someone else to adopt her when the two of you have already bonded.”

The officer looked up at me, a big grin sweeping across his face.

“Do you want to take her now?”

He shook his head. “I can’t take her until after I finish my shift tomorrow. Can she stay here until 7:00 tomorrow evening? I can pick her up then.”

I nodded. The officer reached down and petted her, thanked us, and departed. My husband and I looked at each other. What were the chances of the man who broke her out of doggie jail at a “kill” shelter wanting to adopt her? This was one lucky dog.

Over the rest of the day, we discovered that our new guest could jump over our picket fence like it was a small stick, that if we put a leash on her she would automatically heal on the right side, would sit on command, had a voracious appetite, and was a little afraid of my 15-pound dog that weighed at least 50 pounds less than her. Come evening, my husband set up a bedroom for her in our enclosed breezeway. We couldn’t let her into the main part of the house because our cats could smell her and were quite upset. The dog accepted being in the breezeway as long as we kept checking on her, and left the light on. But come bedtime, we turned off the breezeway light and that’s when we discovered her fear of the dark. She barked and cried and whined like a little puppy. We knew that no one was going to get any sleep. I turned on the breezeway light, and immediately she stopped crying. The next day we all went back into the yard to play, and just as he promised, the Sergeant showed up after his shift. He and the black dog immediately exchanged that same look of love and adoration.

“See why I fell in love with her when I picked her up yesterday?” he asked.

It was a remarkable thing to witness. Clearly, the officer was her hero for rescuing her, and she was the dog he needed to heal his broken heart. He walked her out to his pickup truck, opened the door to the back seat and before he could lift her into the truck, she leaped in, sat, and was ready to go. She knew he was her furrever dad. The Sergeant turned back to us, grinned, got in his truck, and drove the black dog to her new home. A couple of days later we learned that the Sergeant gave her a new name: Luna, to commemorate the totality eclipse that would soon cast its shadow over Texas.