When I woke up, Shadow was pacing back and forth in the room. I could hear the click-clack of his nails on the wooden floor—it was clear he'd been at it for a while.
"Hey there," I mumbled, glancing at my phone. Six o'clock sharp. "You okay, buddy?"
As soon as I spoke, he stopped pacing and stood at the front door, all stiff and serious, like he was waiting for orders. I swear I caught a glimpse of annoyance flash in his amber eyes as I stumbled out of my room.
"Oh, you've got to go out, huh?"
He tilted his head, and for a second, it felt like he was blushing. Crazy, right? Dogs don't blush.
I grabbed his leash off the hook. The moment he saw it, his face changed. Honestly, if I didn't know him better, I would've said he looked horrified.
"Come on, big guy. All dogs need walks."
But Shadow stepped back, like the leash was some kind of serpent ready to bite. He let out this low whine that almost sounded human, and his ears flattened back against his head.
He was definitely telling me "no."
"You have to wear the leash, Shadow. It's the law."
He stared at me for what felt like an eternity, then slowly, reluctantly crept forward. But the look on his face? It was like I was asking him to prance around in a tutu. Total humiliation.
When I finally clipped the leash to his collar, his whole body slumped. He wouldn't even look at me, just hung his head, tail tucked between his legs.
"It's just a walk," I whispered. "Nothing to feel guilty about."
But once we stepped outside, Shadow's behavior got even stranger. He kept glancing around like he was scared someone might spot him.
When Mrs. Patterson from next door waved at her garden, he practically tried to hide behind me. And let's be real—he's an eighty-pound dog trying to blend in with my five-foot-four frame.
"Good morning, Aria!" Mrs. Patterson called out. "You've got a dog, I see. He's a big one."
"Good morning, Mrs. Patterson. This is Shadow."
Shadow bristled when she got closer, like he was gearing up for a showdown. But then, defeated, he just stood there as she reached out to pet him. You'd think he was being tortured.
"Oh, what a lovely coat!" she exclaimed. "What breed is he?"
I shrugged, "Honestly, I'm not sure. Probably mixed breed." I could feel Shadow's glare. Mixed breed? Really? Like I just insulted his whole ancestry.
After Mrs. Patterson returned to her flowers, we kept walking. Shadow was right next to me, but I could tell he was always on the lookout. Not like a curious dog sniffing out new scents, but more like a bodyguard scanning for threats.
When we reached the little park at the end of the block, he stopped dead in his tracks. Every muscle in his body tightened, and his nose shot up in the air.
"What's up, boy?"
His hackles were raised, and he was zeroed in on the tree line. A low growl rumbled in his chest—defensive.
I didn't see anything in that direction, just the morning shadows and trees.
"Shadow?"
Even as we strolled, he kept glancing at the woods, staying alert for whatever had caught his attention.
Back home, I unclipped his leash, and you could see the change instantly.
His head lifted, shoulders squared, and he strutted around like he'd just regained his dignity.
"You really hate that thing, don't you?"
I chuckled, watching him nod in agreement. I was starting to read his expressions, but it was a challenge.
His head tilt meant "yes." His ears flicked when he disagreed. And if I was slow to catch on, he'd patiently wait for me to catch up.
As I toasted some bread and brewed coffee, Shadow perched by the kitchen window. He wasn't sprawled out like most dogs; he sat straight and alert, keeping watch on the outside world.
I buttered my toast and said, "You know, most dogs would be whining for food right now."
Shadow glanced at his half-full bowl of kibble, then at my breakfast, and finally back at me. The message was clear: that's not food. It's almost an insult.
"Alright, I'll swing by the store later and pick up something better."
His tail gave a little wag. Progress!
Shadow followed me around the house as I got ready for work. More like a bodyguard than a crazy puppy. He stood in the bathroom doorway while I brushed my. He was leaning against the doorframe of my bedroom, his back turned to me, just hanging out while I got ready. Like, how polite is that for a dog?
Honestly, it caught me off guard. I mean, when does a dog ever respect someone's privacy like that? "Shadow," I whispered, almost in disbelief.
He turned his head, those amber eyes full of questions.
"Who are you really?"
For a brief moment, I swear his pupils looked so human—like he was filled with all this longing and sadness. I couldn't even breathe for a second. But then, just like that, he shifted again, and he was just a dog again.
But deep down, I knew there was something more. It felt like someone was trapped in there, behind those eyes.
Someone who cared about me, who seemed totally horrified by dog food, who didn't like leashes one bit, and who listened to every single thing I said.
Someone with secrets.
As I reached for my keys to head to work, Shadow stepped in front of me. He had this anxious look, like he really didn't want me to leave without him.
"Hey, buddy, I have to go to work," I said, trying to reassure him.
He moved aside, but as I pulled away, I could feel his gaze on me from the window, waiting for me to come back.
At that moment, I realized that for the first time, I was the one who had been saved. Not the other way around.