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I should have gone back sooner.

We pulled into our Memphis campground early afternoon, looking forward to dinner downtown, some time in nature, and maybe a glass of wine after dinner.

Man plans, the universe laughs.

When we left for dinner, I noticed a brown dog by the side of the road. At first I wasn’t sure he was alive, but as we passed I realized he was lying down and alive. We’re in an area well away from houses, so my first assumption was that he lived with someone back in the woods. No real reason fence a dog when you have property to spare, I told myself. Maybe he was waiting for a kid to get home from school, or summer camp, I told myself.

We ate dinner, drove down to Beale Street, then came back to the campsite.

The dog was still there. Sitting up.

We came back to the camper and sat down, but I couldn’t let it go. That dog had been there at least two hours.

Barry knows me well.

“We should go back before it gets too late,” he said.

With apologies to our dogs, we left.

“Maybe he won’t be there,” I said. “Maybe he went home.”

“He’s going to be there,” Barry said.

He was.

Spine and ribs poked through his brown coat. Sores or burns were on the back of his head. He had marks around his neck like someone had tied him up too tightly for a long time.

But still his tail thumped the sidewalk as I approached. He lifted his massive head — far too big for such a scrawny body — and sniffed my hand.

I had some apprehension. When Calypso was a puppy, a dog that looked a lot like this one charged across the street, up my porch steps, and attacked her viciously, leaving her in a body bandage. It was a long time before a big dog could come near Calypso without Calypso shrieking in terror.

I’ve learned a lot about boxy-headed dogs since then (and that there was a dogfighting ring near my house), but I still wasn’t sure what to expect from a boxy-headed dog that looked a lot like the one who had attacked her almost 18 years ago. But my worries were unfounded; this one looked like a skinny, friendly, sad goofball.

Off to his side was a gallon water jug, the top cut off so he could drink.

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Someone had dumped this sweet dog along the cast-off couches, tires, and bags of household trash that littered this stretch of roadway.

We got him into the truck with no issues, and he sat there, silently, all the way to the vet.

The emergency vet was kind — they gave him a NexGuard and cleaned his eyes — but resolute: They wouldn’t hold him overnight without an acute injury, which he did not have.

We were fortunate enough to meet a woman who worked at Memphis Animal Control who came in regarding another emergency, and she said she could take the dog in the morning.

We brought him back to the RV and introduced the dogs one at a time. I held my breath with Calypso, but the most he did was sniff her, wag his tail, and put a tentative paw on her.

Nevertheless, we closed the divider between the bed and kept the dogs separate for the night. We gave him a meal and he acted like he hadn’t eaten in days which, it’s possible, he hadn’t.

This morning, I brought the dog to Memphis Animal Services. I’d reached out to a pit rescue group in the area but hadn’t heard back, although MAS said that they worked with the group and would try and get this pup into a foster home.

On the 40-minute drive to MAS, I explained to the dog that we weren’t abandoning him; we were bringing him to a place where they’d help him gain weight and let his sores heal and find him a new home where he would have soft beds and lots of love and treats.

I told him this through tears.

It certainly felt like we were abandoning him, even though there’s no way three dogs would fit in our truck from Tennessee to Florida. For his part, he wagged his tail and looked a little less tired and a little less sad.

The people at MAS were incredibly kind. They’ve already named him Rodger and assured me no, they won’t euthanize him if he has heart worm, and yes, they will press charges if someone comes forward to claim him. They also told me he was about 3 and that the sores on his head, ears, and neck were actually burn marks.

People are trash sometimes.

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They let me tell him goodbye and I cried harder than I expected. I hate shelters. Most of them do the best they can, but at the end of the day they have too many animals and not enough resources. I told him to be a good boy and that they’d find him a good home. He covered my face with giant tongue kisses and wagged his whole body.

It was really hard to leave him.

Anyway.

His name now is Rodger (#47920), and he has a three-day hold, but if you live near Memphis and want a really sweet dog who’s had a bad time but still remains sweet, he’s your guy. Here’s his listing at the Memphis Animal Services website. He’s a good boy, great on a leash, housebroken (well, RV-broken), mild-mannered, good with small dogs and dogs about his size, and desperately in need of a soft place to land. He loves car rides and sloppy kisses.

I hope he finds a good home. I hope he doesn’t think I dumped him off without caring, like his former owners did. Most of all, I hope he has a great life.

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