I never expected a late-night trip for duct tape and batteries to change the course of my week—maybe even my life. I wasn’t in the mood for surprises. My landlord had just informed me of yet another rent increase, and I was clinging to small tasks—like fixing a broken kitchen drawer—to keep frustration at bay. So there I was, heading into Harlow’s Home & Hardware at 9:47 p.m. on a quiet Wednesday night.
The store was nearly empty. Shelves were mid-restock, and the air carried the scent of sawdust and plastic wrap. Overhead, a faint oldie played on the loudspeakers. Everything felt still.
Then I saw her.
A dog. Mid-sized. Sandy fur. Calm brown eyes. She sat in the middle of the aisle near the ladders and extension cords, leash trailing behind her. No movement. Just watching.
I paused. She didn’t seem lost or scared—just aware. Like she was waiting.
Cautiously, I approached and knelt beside her. “Hey, girl. Where’s your person?” I asked softly. She wagged her tail once. Her collar was worn but clean, and the tag attached to it read just one word:
HOPE.
Continue reading on next page…