Casper felt like ours.
And yeah, maybe naming him after a ghost was a little on-the-nose, considering the baby monitor situation.
But it fit.
We went home, I bathed him in the tub, watched muddy water swirl down the drain, and tried not to cry again.
Under the grime he was still that same dorky-looking dog with one white paw and big, earnest eyes.
“Welcome back,” I whispered, clipping the tag onto his collar. “You picked a hell of a time, dude.”
From then on, Casper was part of the team.
He followed us everywhere.
Continue reading…
