My Irish Dog

The tourist came upon the small stray dog on the outskirts of a village called Galbally in southwest Ireland. She was alone. Maybe a runaway. Maybe abandoned by her owner. He took her to the village, expecting help but receiving none. At a loss, he picked a random farmhouse. The lady and her children were nice enough, and the problem was solved. He took a quick trip back into town and then again passed the farmhouse fifteen minutes later. At the end of the driveway, there stood the dog, staring with imploring eyes as he drove by, asking why he had left her there. He didn't stop to tell her why, to tell her he was only a visitor.

On a second trip to Ireland, he visited the farmhouse once more. He hoped to see the dog again, or at least ask what had become of her. He would never know. The house was empty, the family (and perhaps the dog) having packed up and left the village.

He had eventually named the dog Shandy. That of course wasn't her real name, but the rest is a true story. He thought it might be a good segue to a novel about a man named Spencer and a lost dog—an unexpected companion of sorts—that leads him to the redemption he had always sought. Getting there will be anything but easy.