The little dog just showed up one day. There wasn’t a collar on him. There wasn’t any way of knowing whom he belonged to or where he’d come from. Loose dogs aren’t all that uncommon out here in the country and this one didn’t seem a stray. He showed no fear and was obviously fed. We didn’t think too much about it, just another visitor stopping by to say hello before he went on his way. But this one was different. This one was special.

Little Dog, as he came to be known in our household, was always full of energy, happiness and affection. At first we would encourage him to go home after a short time, surely his owners were worried about him, but as time went on we found ourselves looking forward to his visits more and more and the encouragement to leave became less and less.

Little Dog loved playing with the kids; he would join right in with their outdoor frenzy, running and barking, always contributing his share to the craziness. He would come in the house when outdoor time was over and receive his snacks and meals alongside his human playmates. Visits that had once lasted an hour became days and then even a week, and sometimes-even more. He quite naturally took up a place on the foot of our bed as his own and made himself at home. Little Dog was a welcome houseguest, like a favored relative that had come to visit. He had become a member of the family.

Little Dog would periodically disappear, he was there and then he wasn’t. We wondered where he went during these times. We worried about him. People drive fast on the road in front of our house, we didn’t dare think the worst. But we didn’t feel right in keeping him, after all, he wasn’t technically our dog, he was only our beloved friend. We hoped that he was off visiting other families, making other people happy. We hoped he was happy too.

The house didn’t seem right when he was gone; his presence was sorely missed. Like a child gone off to college I suppose, he was the subject of many thoughts and often the topic of conversation. But then just as abruptly as he'd disappeared, he would show up again, rain or shine, summer or winter. To see him running down the road toward us or to hear him suddenly slamming into the door wanting back in always brought smiles. The whole family was glad to see him again. Little Dog had returned, our friend was back for another visit!

We learned about Little Dog. We learned that he was a Shih Tzu; to this day Shih Tzu’s are officially called "Little Dogs" in our house. We learned that his owners lived down the road, not too far from us, in a nice house with an immaculate yard that showed the obvious signs of children. Although we were glad when he came to visit us, we often couldn’t help but wonder why they let him run free, especially on such a dangerous road and often during dangerously cold weather. We also wondered why no one ever came looking for him.

I took him back to his home a few times, I met his owners. They seemed like nice enough people but it was obvious that they didn’t share the feelings we had for the little dog. Bailey, as they called him, didn’t seem to have the same status in their house as he enjoyed in ours. The husband had gotten him as a present for his wife. He didn’t like the little dog at all. The wife said that Bailey nipped at her children and that they didn’t want to play with him because of it. They described a dog that didn’t sound at all like the little dog we had come to know so well. It was as if Little Dog and Bailey were two different dogs.

The last time I took him back there, I saw him chained to a doghouse at the edge of their yard the next day. Little Dog loved being around people, he loved being a part of whatever excitement was going on around him. Being excluded and alone like that must have made him miserable; the sight of him in that situation certainly made me so. But I also knew that Little Dog was clever and that the first chance he got, he would be back. I had faith in him. Sure enough, it wasn’t too long before Little Dog had pulled off his own version of The Great Escape and came running back. I never forced him to go back there again.

Time went on and the little dog worked his way deeper and deeper into our hearts. We couldn’t help but feel that he was ours. We fed him, we bathed him and we gave him plenty of love and in return he made us happy. He showed an ever-lessening inclination to leave us. It was a great arrangement for all but it had one fatal flaw. Little Dog was still not technically ours.

I asked other neighbors what I should do. I had talked to Little Dog’s owners about buying him. Price wasn’t an object but for some reason they wouldn’t let him go. I remember one particularly cold and snowy night, the neighbor that plows out my driveway had just finished  we were making idle chitchat when Little Dog suddenly came running around the snowdrifts and right to me. It was bitterly cold with the snow flying, the kind of night that makes us all wonder why we live in the North. My neighbor couldn’t believe that anyone would let their dog, especially such a little one, out on a night like that. He told me that night I should keep Little Dog; that his owners obviously didn’t care about him. I have thought about those words ever since.

Winter turned to spring as it always does and the little dog continued on, dropping by for a week or two and then disappearing for a few days. He would always return, he was always welcome and greeted with joy. Looking back now, I realize I’d let things get too far. We had become too attached to an animal that wasn’t ours. I’d set up my entire family for heartbreak, but I never meant for that to happen. It all seemed so right at the time.

I returned from a weeklong business trip that spring. If Little Dog was visiting us, he would always come frantically running to greet me upon my arrival.  Whether I'd been gone an hour, a day or a week he was equally glad of my return. The sight of his small legs flying every which way in a blur and his tongue hanging out always made me smile. I’m sure he thought he was the fastest thing on four legs.  Giving it everything he had, running with complete abandon, he was exuberance in motion; his enthusiasm for life utterly contagious.  . This time though, Little Dog wasn’t there. The look on my wife’s face when she greeted me at the door told me something was wrong.

Little Dog had shown up one night when I was gone. But instead of his customary way of letting us know he was back by crashing full tilt into the door with his tail furiously wagging, she told me that he has sat outside and cried. When she went to see what was wrong, she found Little Dog covered in blood. She quickly brought him into the house and placed him in the bathtub. She cleaned the blood off of him trying to see where he was injured. All she could find was a torn ear, Little Dog must have been attacked by something, most likely another dog. She couldn’t find anything else wrong.

Not knowing what else to do, she called his true owners. She wrapped him in a towel and tried to comfort him as best she could until they came for him. They arrived and took him away. Little Dog never returned to us.

About a month went by and there was no sign of Little Dog. To go so long without seeing him was unusual and we became very worried. Finally I told my wife that we should stop there and see what happened, to at least inquire how he was doing.

We pulled in their driveway and there wasn't any sign of Little Dog. The doghouse stood where it had always been, the end of the chain laying in the grass. My heart sank and I feared the worst. The woman came to the door, Little Dog wasn’t with her. She told us they'd decided Little Dog’s injuries were too great to warrant treatment and had him put down. We quickly left, we never went back. To this day my wife blames herself for his death. I tell her no one would've ever guessed that they'd do something so drastic but I know she'll always feel responsible.

I’ll never comprehend how they could do that, how they could remove a life from this world that brought so much happiness into others' lives. I'd have paid anything for him; I'd have paid any vet bill to make him well. I wished they'd given me the chance to do so. Little Dog gave us joy, he made our world better. Human nature being what it is, I wish that we could've known him longer, we're greedy that way. But I also realize that we were lucky to have known him at all.

That night, now years gone by, when Little Dog was hurt and needed help, he knew where his real home was, he knew who his real family was, he knew where he needed to go. Unfortunately in this case the supposedly smarter species couldn’t see the obvious, couldn’t see what Little Dog knew so well and he paid an awful price for our ignorance.  I know Little Dog would forgive us, but I fear we'll never learn to forgive ourselves.

It wasn’t long after that when an ad appeared in the newspaper from one of the local rescue societies. "Shih Tzu needs good home." I called immediately. The rescue people came out and visited us. I told them the story of Little Dog. A few days later, we had a new addition to the family, William, a six month old little dog of our own. William is three now and as spoiled as a dog can be. He is the baby of the family and as perfect a dog as is possible to imagine. Just looking at him makes me feel good.  He makes all our lives better.

In my mind’s eye I can still see the original little dog, a ball of flying fur, tearing down the road toward our house as fast as his short little legs would carry him. I can still feel the thrill racing through my heart when I knew that he would be ours again, even if temporarily. I can still see my family’s faces light up as he burst into the house, as joyful to see us as we were to see him; of watching him run to each of us, making sure that he greeted us all and in turn was greeted by all. I can remember watching him jump on the bed, after a day’s excitement, ready for a good night’s sleep with people that loved him, safe and secure. I still can’t believe that he's gone. But because of him, I have William and for that and all the joy he brought us, I will always be indebted to him. He will never be forgotten.

My children miss Little Dog, they still will ask me where he's gone.  I know they wouldn't understand the truth, I don't understand it myself.  So I tell them he's moved away to a place where he's happy and playing all the time. I think I tell them the truth. They say all dogs go to heaven, that the sun always shines there and the dogs are always happy. If that is the case, then Little Dog is there now, frisky as ever, a gleam in his eyes and his tail wagging; waiting for the day when he can once again rejoin his real family, the ones that really loved him.