To intensify the depression effect, listen to the song "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" while reading.
Sept 2009 a stray dog showed up at my house. Large black mix but was still a pup, could tell by his actions. Was fond of him from start. Real sweet and friendly. After 3 days of him hanging around house, fed him knowing full well if fed he'd never leave. Couldn't stand thought of him being hungry. Back of mind thought could palm him off on somebody, I tried to.
After couple weeks of him lounging around on my front porch, front yard, driveway, he disappeared. Not much thought about his disappearance at first. Second day felt bad and missed him. Knew he had not just wandered off. My fear was animal control had picked him up or he was ironed out on side of the road. Drove around looking for him. I knew that him not being at my house was not good news and regretted not taking him in.
Three days passed and leaving for Univ. one morning there he was, laying in my garage. Immediately sensed something wrong with him cause he didn't jump up and run to greet me. His right front leg was broken, probably clipped by a car. My first thought was poor guy badly hurt but made his way back to my house. Guess he knew if got here he would be safe and taken care of. I freaked out, put him in truck and went to emergency animal hospital. Xrays, consultation with vet, surgery and hard cast. Left him overnight.
Spent 800 bucks having his leg fixed, full med exam vacs etc. and brought him home. After 2 week with hard cast, vet put soft cast on for another week. He made full recovery with no nerve damage to foot. Named him Bo and he is in fenced back yard now. He and my other dog best buds. I love the fucker.