It was a rainy Sunday afternoon when I first saw them—two small figures huddled together near the edge of the gas station parking lot, shivering beneath the open sky. I had just pulled in to fill up my tank and grab a coffee. The storm had rolled in fast, turning the summer day into a soggy gray mess. I spotted the figures from my car window—tiny, soaked, and miserable. At first, I thought they were pieces of trash caught in the wind, but as I got closer, I realized they were puppies.
They looked so pathetic.
Two scruffy little bodies, trembling from the cold and fear, their fur plastered flat against their bones by the rain. One was black and white with a torn ear, the other a dusty golden brown with wide, pleading eyes. They huddled together tightly, seeking warmth, safety, and perhaps a miracle.
No collar. No tags. No sign of an owner.
I glanced around the gas station, half-expecting to see someone searching for lost dogs. Nothing. The only other soul in sight was the tired attendant behind the counter, who didn’t even look up when I entered.
“Those dogs out there—do they belong to someone?” I asked, pointing toward the parking lot.
He shrugged. “Been there since this morning. People just drop animals here sometimes. Happens more than you’d think.”
I felt something twist in my chest. They weren’t just strays—they were abandoned. In this downpour. With nowhere to go. No one coming for them.
I bought a hot dog and a bottle of water, and I went back outside. The puppies shrank away as I approached, but hunger overpowered fear. They ate with shaking jaws, eyeing me warily, but slowly edging closer. When they finished, I crouched low and opened my car door.
“Come on,” I said gently. “You don’t have to stay out here anymore.”
The golden one approached first, limping slightly. He sniffed the inside of my car, then looked back at his companion. The black-and-white puppy hesitated a moment longer, then followed. They both climbed in, curling together on the passenger seat. My heart swelled.
They looked so pathetic, so I brought them into my car.
I turned the heat up and drove slowly, not entirely sure where I was going. Home, I supposed. My tiny apartment wasn’t exactly dog-proof, and I wasn’t even supposed to have pets according to my lease. But there was no way I was leaving them behind.
At home, I wrapped them in towels and dried them off as best I could. I fed them some scrambled eggs, the only thing I had that might be safe for dogs. They devoured it gratefully. The golden one licked my hand afterward. I think that was his way of saying thank you.
That night, they slept curled up on a blanket on my bedroom floor. I kept waking up to check on them, afraid they might disappear like a dream. But every time, there they were, breathing softly, finally safe.
Over the next few days, I took them to the vet. They were underweight and covered in fleas, but thankfully nothing serious. The vet said they were about three months old. Probably siblings. Probably dumped when someone realized they weren’t easy to care for.
I named them Buddy and Beans.
Buddy, the golden one, had a calm, watchful nature. He followed me everywhere and would sit patiently by the door when I left for work. Beans, the black-and-white one, was a ball of nervous energy. He barked at ceiling fans and tried to dig under the couch, but he also loved cuddling up on my lap and licking my face.
They became my family.
The landlord wasn’t thrilled when he found out, but I promised to pay extra and keep them quiet. Miraculously, he agreed. Maybe he saw how much I needed them, too.
Because the truth is, I had been feeling pretty pathetic myself. Life hadn’t been kind lately. My relationship had ended. My job felt like a dead end. Most days I came home, microwaved dinner, and sat in silence. I had been drifting, unsure of where I was going or if I was even moving at all.
But with Buddy and Beans, things changed. I woke up to wagging tails and excited barks. I went on walks, talked to strangers at the dog park, laughed when Beans dragged a pillow across the living room like it was treasure. I started to feel… alive again.
They gave me a purpose. A routine. A reason to smile.
People always say that rescue animals save you just as much as you save them. I used to think that was just a sweet sentiment—but now I know it’s true.
I often think about that rainy day. What if I hadn’t stopped at that gas station? What if I’d looked the other way? But I didn’t. I saw two scared, helpless puppies and made a split-second decision to help.
They looked so pathetic, so I brought them into my car.
And in doing so, I found something I didn’t even realize I was looking for: companionship, loyalty, love.
It’s been a year now. Buddy is still calm and wise, Beans is still wild and silly. They’ve grown bigger, stronger, and more confident. When we walk together, people stop to admire them, and I beam with pride.
Sometimes I drive past that gas station, and I remember the sight of them shivering in the rain. It breaks my heart all over again. But then I glance over at the passenger seat, where Buddy sits like a co-pilot, and Beans hangs his head out the window, ears flapping in the wind, and I smile.
Because they’re not alone anymore. And neither am I.
