Hey everyone, I’m new here, but I really need to share something that’s been weighing on my mind. I’m not exactly sure how to put all of this into words, but I’m going to try. Bear with me if this post is a bit long. I just need to get it off my chest, and maybe some of you will relate. Or maybe not. Either way, here goes.
A couple of weeks ago, I was rushing through one of the rainiest days we’ve had in a while. I had this huge to-do list, and I was already behind schedule. My jacket was soaked through, and my umbrella was threatening to flip inside out with every gust of wind. I was in such a hurry, I almost didn’t notice the small shape sitting off to the side of the sidewalk.
But something about the way it moved—or, well, didn’t move—caught my attention. I slowed down, squinting through the rain. That’s when I saw it was a dog. A dog just sitting there in the middle of a puddle, getting drenched. It wasn’t even barking or whining. It was just… silent.
Now, I’m a dog person, always have been. But in that moment, I hesitated. I had so many errands to run, so many things on my mind. The last thing I needed was to complicate my day even more by dealing with a random dog on the street. But I couldn’t ignore him. Something in my gut told me I had to stop.
So, I walked over, held my umbrella above him, and tried to see if he had a collar or any tags. He was so still that I thought maybe he was injured or sick. I knelt down carefully, reached out, and… no tags. Just wet fur, sad eyes, and a general air of hopelessness. That’s the best way I can describe it: hopelessness. Like he’d given up on the idea that anyone would help him.
I felt this pang in my chest. You know that feeling when you see something vulnerable and you just know you can’t walk away? That was me right then. I offered my hand for him to sniff, and he gave the tiniest wag of his tail—barely a flick, really. But that was enough to convince me.
I gently coaxed him to stand, shielding him with my umbrella. He seemed to be limping a bit, but he still followed me without any real fuss. There was no way I could leave him there, so I decided I’d take him home. I’d figure out what to do after that. One step at a time.
By the time we got to my place, we were both drenched. My living room floor became a small lake from all the water dripping off us. I grabbed some old towels and started drying him off. He was shivering like crazy. I didn’t know if it was from cold or fear or both. His fur was matted and dirty, and up close, I could see that he was a lot skinnier than he should’ve been.
I set out a little bowl of water and some dog treats I happened to have (yes, I keep treats around even though I didn’t have a dog at the time—I just like to be prepared, okay?). He sniffed at the treats but didn’t eat them right away. Instead, he just kind of stared at me with these big, dark eyes, like he was trying to decide if I was trustworthy or not.
I felt this wave of responsibility come crashing down on me. I hadn’t planned on adopting a dog. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if he was a stray or just lost. Maybe he belonged to someone in the neighborhood. But the idea of putting him back outside in the rain or dropping him off somewhere random just felt wrong.
So, I posted online, asking if anyone was missing a dog. No responses. I checked local lost-and-found groups. Nothing. I called a couple of shelters, but the idea of sending him away made my stomach churn. I decided I’d keep him with me at least for the night. That turned into the next day, and the next.
Over those first few days, he barely moved from the corner of my living room. I tried everything to get him comfortable: a soft blanket, fresh water, a bit of boiled chicken to entice him to eat. He was polite about it—he’d nibble here and there—but he didn’t seem excited. He almost acted like he was afraid to be happy, like he’d been disappointed too many times before.
I couldn’t stop thinking about where he might have come from. Was he abandoned? Had he run away from a bad situation? The marks on his body—little scars and bald patches—suggested he hadn’t had the easiest life. But I didn’t want to assume too much. Sometimes dogs just have rough experiences that aren’t necessarily anyone’s fault. Still, it was hard not to imagine the worst.
One afternoon, while I was trying to figure out if he needed a vet visit, I realized I didn’t even have a name for him. I felt weird just calling him “dog” or “buddy.” But every time I tried to come up with something, I’d look at him and draw a blank. It was like he was so closed off, I couldn’t get a sense of his personality.
I’d say something like, “Hey, you look like a Max,” and he’d just stare at me. Then I’d try, “Or maybe you’re a Charlie?” Still nothing. It was almost comical. So, for a while, I didn’t name him. I figured he’d let me know when the right name came along.
Things changed about a week in. I had left one of my shoes near the door, and when I came back from the kitchen, he was sitting there, gently holding the shoe in his mouth. He wasn’t chewing it, just… holding it. Like he was bringing it to me. It was the first time I’d seen him show any real initiative or curiosity.
I laughed a little, and that seemed to surprise him. He dropped the shoe, tilted his head, and then took a step back. I picked up the shoe, offered it back to him, and he sniffed it. I said something like, “Hey, if you wanted to ruin a shoe, I wouldn’t blame you.” But he just wagged his tail—this time a little more than a flick. It was a moment, you know? Something so small, but it felt like progress.
A day or two later, the weather cleared up, and I decided to take him outside for a short walk. He was still limping a bit, but I thought some fresh air would do us both good. I tied a makeshift leash around him—one of my old scarves—and we went down the block.
I half-expected him to panic or try to run off. But instead, he stayed right by my side, sniffing at the grass, occasionally glancing up at me like he wanted reassurance. We didn’t go far, just around the block, but by the time we got back, he seemed… lighter, I guess. Like a little bit of his burden had lifted.
Later that evening, I was in the backyard, messing around with some plants. I’d been thinking about how to cheer him up, maybe do something silly to make him wag his tail again. I had this small flower—a random bloom I’d managed to keep alive in a pot—and I just plucked it, walked over to where he was lying, and held it out. I know, it probably sounds weird, giving a flower to a dog. But I wanted to see if he’d react.
He sniffed it. Then he turned those big eyes on me, almost as if to say, “What am I supposed to do with this?” I just laughed and placed it gently on the ground near his paws. He poked at it with his nose, sneezed (pollen, maybe?), and then he looked at me again.
And in that moment, his tail did a full wag, back and forth, a few times in a row. My heart just about melted. I’d only known him for a short time, but I already felt this deep connection. Like we’d both gone through something tough, and we were finding our way out of it together.
Of course, not everything was sunshine and rainbows. He still had his moments where he’d retreat to a corner and stare at the wall, almost like he was haunted by old memories. He’d refuse to eat for hours, then suddenly get up and devour everything in his bowl. He didn’t bark much, either. Sometimes I worried he couldn’t bark. But then, in his sleep, he’d let out these little muffled “woofs,” so I knew he had it in him.
I kept looking for any sign of a previous owner. I posted more notices, asked around, even visited a couple of local vets to see if he had a microchip. No luck. It was like he’d never existed before that day I found him in the rain.
Fast forward to now. It’s been a couple of weeks, and he’s become a part of my daily routine. Every morning, I make coffee, and I set out his food. I open the back door, and he’ll wander out to sniff the air, maybe chase a leaf or two. He’s still pretty reserved, but he’s getting more comfortable. Sometimes he’ll even rest his head on my knee when I’m sitting on the couch, which is huge progress for him.
I still haven’t officially named him, though. I’m not sure why I’m waiting. Maybe it’s because part of me worries that someone will suddenly show up, claiming he’s theirs. Or maybe I’m scared of getting too attached if it turns out I can’t keep him. But every day, I feel that attachment growing stronger, whether I like it or not.
I had this moment last night where I realized how much he’s changed my life already. I was watching him sleep, his little paws twitching like he was dreaming about running somewhere. I found myself smiling, and I couldn’t remember the last time I felt that kind of peaceful happiness. I’ve been going through a lot in my personal life—stress at work, family drama, all that jazz—and somehow, having this dog around has grounded me. Reminded me that there’s more to life than just my problems.
But I’m also torn. I don’t know if I can handle a dog full-time, especially one that might have health issues or a traumatic past. Part of me feels like I’m not equipped for that kind of responsibility. Another part of me doesn’t want to imagine my life without him now. It’s a weird mix of emotions, and I’m not entirely sure what to do.
For now, I’m just taking it day by day. He seems happier, more at ease. He’ll follow me around the house, occasionally bringing me random items—like socks or, yes, still the occasional shoe. It’s like he’s offering them to me, a strange little gift to say thanks or just to get my attention.
And I’ve noticed that whenever I open my umbrella now, even if it’s not raining, he gets a little excited. Maybe he remembers how we first met, under that broken, leaky umbrella on a stormy day. I like to think that moment meant something to him, too.
So that’s my situation. I found a lonely dog in the pouring rain, and I took him in. I’m still not 100% sure where this story is heading. Part of me is hopeful that I can give him the life he deserves, but part of me is also scared that I’m going to mess this up. He’s already been through so much—I don’t want to be another disappointment in his life.
Yet every time I see that tail wag, or when he curls up next to me on the couch, I feel like maybe I’m doing something right. Maybe this is the start of something good for both of us. It’s not all fixed, and I definitely don’t have it all figured out. But there’s a tiny spark of hope that wasn’t there before.
I’m holding onto that.
TL;DR:
- I found a dog sitting alone in the rain a couple of weeks ago.
- Brought him home, no collar, no tags, can’t find his owner.
- He was really shut down at first but is slowly coming out of his shell.
- Still not sure if I can keep him or if he even wants to stay, but I’m trying to do right by him.
- He’s changed my life in ways I didn’t expect, and I’m not sure where this is all going.
That’s the short version. If you made it this far, thanks for reading. I’m not sure what’s next for us, but I’m hoping it’s something good.
Feel free to comment or share any advice. I could definitely use it.
Anyway, that’s it for now. I’m going to go see if he wants to play or just needs some cuddle time. Maybe one day I’ll have a definitive ending to this story, but right now, it feels like we’re both just starting a new chapter—together.