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.
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