He was lying in three inches of water.When I touched him，he didn’t move.I thought he was dead.I put my hands around his chest and hoisted him to his feet.He stood unsteadily in the puddle，his head hung like a weight at the end of his neck.Half his body was covered with mange.His floppy ears were just hairlesspieces of flesh dotted with open sores.
“come on.”I said，hoping I wouldn’t have to carry his infected carcass to shelter.His tail wagged once and he plodded weakly after me.I led him to an alcove next to the bar，where he lay on the cold cement and closed his eyes.
A block away I could see the lights of a late night convenience store.It was still open.I bought three cans of Alpo and stuffed them into my leather coat.I was wet and ugly and the clerk looked relieved as I left.The race-type exhausts on my old Harley Davidson rattled the windows in the bar as I rode back to the bar.
The barmaid opened the cans for me and said the dog’s name was Shep.She told me he was about a year old and that his owner had gone to Germany and left him on the street.He ate all three cans of dog food with an awe-inspiring singleness of purpose.I wanted to pet him，but he smelled like death and looked even worse.“Good luck.”I said.Then got on my bike and rode away.
The next day I got a job driving a dump truck for a small paving company.As I hauled a load of gravel through the center of town，I saw Shep standing on the sidewalk near the bar.I yelled to him and thought I saw his tail wag.His reaction made me feel good.
After work I bought three more cans of Alpo and a cheeseburger.My new friend and I ate dinner together on the sidewalk.He finished his first.
The next night，when I brought his food，he welcomed me with wild enthusiasm.Now and then，his malnourished legs buckled and he fell to the pavement.Other humans had deserted him and mistreated him，but now he had a friend and his appreciation was more than obvious.
I didn’t see him the next day as I hauled load after load up the main street past the bar.I wondered if someone had taken him home.
After work I parked my black Harley on the street and walked down the sidewalk looking for him.I was afraid of what I would find.He was lying on his side in an alley nearby.His tongue hung out in the dirt and only the tip of his tail moved when he saw me.
The local veterinarian was still at his office，so I borrowed a pickup truck from my employer and loaded the limp mongrel into the cab.“Is this your dog”the vet asked after checking the pitiful specimen that lay helplessly on his examining table.
“No，”I said，“he’s just a stray.”
“He’s got the beginnings of distemper，”the vet said sadly，“If he doesn’t have a home，the kindest thing we can do is put him out of his misery.”
I put my hand on the dog’s shoulder.His mangy tail thumped weakly against the stainless steel table.I sighed loudly.“He’s got a home.”I said.
For the next three nights and two days，the dog—I named him Shep—lay on his side in my apartment.My roommate and I spent hours putting water in his mouth and trying to get him to swallow a few scrambled eggs.He couldn’t do it，but whenever I touched him，his tail wagged slightly at the very tip.
At about 10：00 a.m.on the third day，I went home to open the apartment for the telephone installer.As I stepped through the door，I was nearly flattened by a jumping，wiggling mass of euphoric mutt.Shep had recovered.
With time，the mangy starving dog that nearly died in my living room grewinto an eighty-pound block of solid muscle，with a massive chest and a super thick coat of shiny black fur.Many times，when loneliness and depression have nearly gotten the best of me，Shep has returned my favor by showering me with his unbridled friendship until I had no choice but to smile and trade my melancholy for a fast game of fetch-the-stick.
When I look back，I can see that Shep and I met at the low point of both of our lives.But we aren’t lonely drifters anymore.I’d say we’ve both come home.
