I didn’t mean to give up.
The last of the storm clouds were still in the sky, and the air felt heavy and damp like it does after a bad rain. I was late for a meeting I really needed to go to. I spilled coffee on my shirt as I rushed out the door, then I got stuck behind a tractor on the highway, and to make things worse, my phone just rang to remind me that I missed a call from the customer I was supposed to impress today.
I didn’t need any more time.
But when I round the curve on County Road 12, just past the old, leaning fence line where the shoulder turns to gravel, I spotted something out of the corner of my eye. It looked like a pile of trash at first. Someone might have thrown a box out of the back of a truck, gotten it wet, and then crumpled it up on the grass.
But then I saw something move.
A little, shaky movement.
I didn’t even think about it before I hit the brakes, pulled over to the side of the road, and left the engine running. As soon as I got out of the car, I smelled wet leaves and damp dirt. The noise my boots made as they hit the gravel in the quiet was too loud. I moved slowly toward the ditch, half expecting a raccoon or some other animal to spring out at me. What I saw, however, stopped me in my tracks.
There were four boxer puppies, all less than six or seven weeks old, huddled together in a muddy mass next to a cardboard box that was falling apart. Their fur was wet and muddy, and they were shaking. They looked scared and confused, but they were too tired to be scared. It looked like they had been there for a long time, maybe even all night. One was lying on top of the others like a shield, with its eyes half-closed.
There was no mother there.
There are no houses nearby.
There were no signs, no barking, no leash, and no bowl. Four small lives left alone in a ditch by the side of the road, where it was wet and quiet.
I knelt down and spoke quietly so they wouldn’t be terrified. “Hey, little kids…” It’s okay now.
They didn’t leave. They didn’t even move. They just looked at me as if they didn’t know what to do next.
I went back to my car and got the old hoodie out of the back. It smelt like sweat and oil, but it was soft and dry, so I had to use it. I carefully picked them up one at a time, wrapped them in the folds of my sweatshirt, and put them in the back seat of my car. Three of them looked very similar. They all had fawn-colored coats with little white markings on their paws or chests. They were all underweight but breathing steadily.
Then I took the fourth one, which was the smallest.
When I took her up, she moaned softly, and when I turned her around, I observed something strange. Around her little neck was a worn red collar that was barely holding together. The fabric was dirty and ripped. The small brass tag had gotten dirty from the weather.
I cleaned the corner of the hooded sweatshirt.
The stone had the word “Hope” engraved into it in thin, fading letters.
I just stared at it for a long time. The name was so loud in my head that I couldn’t hear the cars going by. That one word hit me harder than I expected it would. The dog wasn’t just a stray puppy that someone left behind. Someone named her. Someone had loved her at some point. She might have had a house, a family, a yard, and a bed.
It wasn’t just a name. It was a story. A connection. A thread that goes to something bigger.
I drove right away to the nearest vet clinic without thinking about it. I didn’t call ahead. I didn’t care how late I was at the meeting. I kept the heating on high in the car to keep them warm, and I peered in the rearview mirror every few seconds to make sure they were still breathing.
The clinic staff took them in immediately away. The receptionist didn’t ask any questions. She merely spotted my soiled hoodie full of shivering puppies and called the vet from the back. They provided warm towels, a heater, and little doses of electrolytes. I was in the waiting room with dirty hands, trying to text my customer an explanation but not knowing how to do it.
The vet finally came out. “They’re stable,” she said in a low voice. “No serious injuries.” You were lucky to find them when you did.
I informed her what the tag was. About “Hope.”
She nodded and pulled out a scanner. She looked for microchips in each one. Not a thing. Not a thing. Nope.
After that, a buzzer could be heard.
It was the little one. Hope.
The vet’s assistant went to the back, and in less than five minutes, they got the owner’s phone number. A family that lives in a separate city. The chip had been listed as “lost” since the puppy had gone missing around two weeks prior, during a thunderstorm. The owner had called the police and put up flyers, but no one had come forward with any information.
They were close to giving up.
The vet called them right away.
An hour later, a minivan pulled into the clinic’s parking lot. There was a mom, a dad, two kids, and a lot of optimism in their eyes. They stopped everything when they saw the puppy. The youngsters began to cry right away. The mother went to her knees and clutched Hope as if she were holding something really special.
Hope wagged her tail for the first time since I got her.
They told us everything, including that a storm had torn down their garden fence. The puppies and the mother dog had both fled away. The next day, they found the mother safe but wet. There was no hope. They hadn’t found her yet. The other three puppies in the back seat were not theirs.
Someone must have put the box with Hope in it with the lost puppies.
Not only did it break my heart because of what had transpired, but also because it was so strange and nice. At least the person who abandoned the others put them with a dog that still had a chance.
The family brought Hope home that afternoon. But they didn’t go home with nothing. They helped us post about the other three puppies online, shared their story, and were with us every step of the way while we looked for homes for them.
I took care of the other kids like a foster parent. Gave them names for a little while. I let them sleep in a box in my guest room that was lined with towels. I fed them by hand when they didn’t want food. I played soft music at night to help them quiet down.
The vet and some volunteers from the local animal rescue helped find homes for all three of them after a week.
I still get images every once in a while. One of the puppies sleeps on a little girl’s bed every night. Another person goes hiking with a retired couple who likes him. What about Hope, though? Her family also tells her what’s going on. She is getting bigger and stronger every day. This collar is still on her, and it’s a bright purple one with a fresh tag that says “HOPE,” just like the first one.
Now, every time I drive along County Road 12, I glance at the ditch.
Not because I want to see more puppies, but because that place means something else to me now. Not only is it where something was lost, but it’s also where it was found. Things became better there. A modest red collar reminded me that even one small choice may make a big difference.
That day, I thought I was rescue four puppies.
But I really believe they saved me.
