A New Home

"Need to go outside?" I asked the dog. He lifted his head, and his tail started to wag. Slowly, he got up and shuffled after me towards the door.

Silo was a good dog. When he wondered onto our farm two weeks ago, we could only assume he was a stray. He was scrawny and ragged, and there wasn't a collar in sight, but he was sweet and willing to follow us back to the house.

He was the kind of dog that never barked and would sit with you on the porch and nap in the sun. The kind of dog that always seemed to always have a dopey sort of smile on his face and plucky elavator music playing in his head. He was getting older, if the white hairs on his muzzle were any indication, but he wasn't that old. The pooch still had some kick in him.

When I posted him on Facebook, I quickly found a family that was interested in taking him. They were a young couple with two kids, one was seven and the other was four. Silo was sweet and gentle, and I was confident he would make a great family dog. They were eager to pick him up, and I knew he would be happy.

Tonight was our last night together. It had been a lovely evening with him curled up next to my rocking chair as I read. But now it was bed time. Time to let him outside one last time.

He trotted out into the darkness and I began to shut down the rest of the house. Lights off, air conditioner set, etc. The last step was to let Silo in, lock the door, and head upstairs. But when I came back to the screen door, he wasn't waiting for me.

This wasn't unusual. Sometimes Silo prefered to stay outside. The summer nights were the perfect temperature, and the sound of the crickets and the locusts made for a good lullaby. Besides, how many nights had he stayed outside before he was found?

I called for him a few times to be sure that that's what he wanted. "Siiiilooooo," echoed across the plains. Nothing answered me but a gentle breeze and the yips of coyotes to the south. They were far away and even then, rarely came close to the house.

With that, I shut the door and went to bed.

When I woke up in the morning, he still wasn't at the door, which definitely was unusual. Normally, he was ready to see me again by the time the sun came up. I slipped on some shoes and headed out, calling his name the whole time. "Siiiiilooooo..."

Finally, as I rounded the barn, I saw him. He didn't come trotting up to me as he usually did. There was no warm, dark fur or toothy dog grin. He didn't timidly ask for pets or wag his tail. No, now he was a heap of fur laying in the dirt. With a sinking feeling in my stomach and tears burning in my eyes, I realized I would have to contact the family before they made the trip out here.