I never thought a late-night trip for duct tape and batteries would turn my week—or my life—upside down. I wasn’t looking for surprises. My landlord had just raised the rent again, and the only thing keeping me from cleaning the apartment out of frustration was a broken kitchen drawer. That’s how I ended up at Harlow’s Home & Hardware at 9:47 p.m. on a quiet Wednesday night.
The store was nearly empty, the kind of quiet that feels like the world is exhaling. Shelves half-stocked, a scanner beeping now and then, and a faint old song playing overhead. It smelled like sawdust and shrink wrap. Nothing unusual—until I saw her.
A dog. Medium-sized, sandy fur, soft eyes, and a leash trailing behind her. She sat calmly in the middle of the aisle near the step ladders, looking at me like I was interrupting something—or maybe like I was exactly who she’d been waiting for. I knelt and whispered, “Where’s your human?” She didn’t flinch. Her collar was worn leather, well-kept, and on her tag was just one word: *Hope.* No number, no address. She followed me to the front counter without hesitation.
