I woke up with a jolt. “Shit, I owe Leslie $500!”
The realization hit like a bucket of cold water. I had completely forgotten about paying my friend back for the $500 she loaned me during a tough time months ago.
But my mind quickly calmed. After all, I’d recently experienced some jaw-dropping manifestations—like a dream-worthy lakefront cabin—and I thought, No problem. It’ll show up. With that comforting belief, I drifted back to sleep.
A couple of hours later, as I was getting ready to make coffee, an inexplicable urge nudged me to ditch my kitchen and drive down the twisty mountain road to the gas station for their coffee bar instead. It was cold—barely 35°F—but I bundled up, climbed into my Subaru, and set off.
As I rounded one of the countless blind curves on the mountain road, I slammed on the brakes. There, in the middle of the road, sat a gray pit bull, shivering in the cold.
I pulled to the side and hesitated, my heart racing. This was a pit bull. Was it friendly—or not? As we locked eyes, a silent standoff ensued. I could sense the dog sizing me up as much as I was sizing him up. But a car could come barreling around the bend at any moment, so I had to act fast.
I cracked open my door, slowly and cautiously. That must’ve been the signal he was waiting for. Without hesitation, the dog stood up, walked to the passenger side of my car, and sat expectantly, as if to say, This is my ride now.
I glanced around at the rugged, empty landscape. Where on earth had he come from? He wore a tattered blue collar but no tags. There were no houses for miles, and stray dogs didn’t just appear up here in the mountains—not with mountain lions and bears roaming around.
What was I supposed to do with him? I’d just had my car detailed, and his muddy paws and filthy fur were not what I envisioned for my spotless interior.
But when he shivered again and looked at me with those big, pleading brown eyes, my heart melted. I sighed, opened the passenger door, and watched as he hopped up, settled into the seat, and stared straight ahead like he was saying, Thanks. Now take me home.
Coffee forgotten, I climbed back in, cranked the seat warmer and heater, and tried to figure out my next move. That’s when the thought struck me: Post him on Facebook.
It was barely 6 a.m., and I doubted anyone on our tiny mountain-town page would respond, but I had nothing to lose. I snapped a photo of the dog—now affectionately dubbed Hitchhiker in my mind—and posted it with a simple question: “Does anyone know this pup?”
To my surprise, within minutes, someone replied: a couple had been camping nearby and lost their pitbull three days earlier. They’d been desperately searching and posting everywhere.
Three days? How had this dog survived alone in the freezing mountains? He didn’t look like he’d gone without food or water, though he was dirty.
Another comment followed quickly with their phone number and news that they were still on the mountain, staying at a Motel 6. I called immediately.
“Hello?” A hopeful voice answered.
“I think I have your dog,” I said.
Her scream of joy was deafening. “Astro! You found Astro!”
The sound of his name made the pit bull’s ears perk up, and his tail thumped against the seat.
We arranged to meet at the gas station I had intended to get my coffee at. As I pulled into the lot, Astro’s demeanor shifted. He stood, his eyes locked on a white truck parked nearby. His tail wagged furiously.
Before I could even park, a man and woman bolted from the truck, tears streaming down their faces. They flung open my car door, and Astro leaped into their arms, tail wagging like a propeller.
The reunion was pure joy. The couple cried, hugged their dog, and fussed over him as he wolfed down food and water they’d brought.
The woman turned to me, pulling me into a bear hug. “Thank you. Thank you so much!” She reached into her pocket, pulling out a wad of cash.
I waved my hands in protest. “No, really, I’m just happy he’s back with you.”
But she was insistent, pressing the money into my hand. “I’m not going to argue. Take it.”
“Okay,” I said finally, touched by her gratitude.
After swapping stories about Astro’s three-day adventure—chasing a deer, getting lost, and how I found him—we said our goodbyes.
Back in my car, I glanced at the passenger seat, now smeared with mud and fur. I smiled. It was a small price to pay for such a happy ending.
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the cash to set it aside. But something about the amount caught my attention. I unfolded the bills and counted.
$500.
Exactly.
I sat back, stunned, then laughed. The universe had delivered again—this time in the form of a pit bull named Astro.
💋 Kristen
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