I had the best dog in the world, but I didn’t deserve him.

I never quite figured out what breed he was, whether it was German shepherd, or husky, or… something else. He certainly had some wolf blood in him; that much you could tell just by looking. Sleek and shaggy, he had thick, white fur that looked coarse but was surprisingly soft to touch. Long muzzle, long legs with large paws, and long ears that were rounded at the tip; big floofy tail, and a great big doggie grin you couldn’t help but smile back at.
He was super-smart, too. I could tell him anything, and I knew right away that he understood. He always understood me. What I was saying, what I was feeling, even what I was thinking; since the day we met, he knew me better than anyone.
I was on the common, sitting, reading. I’d just gotten off from work, and didn’t want to go back to my empty apartment just yet. Besides, I thought I could use the fresh air after having breathed recycled Freon all day at the office, and reading was one of the ways that I could escape the tedium of every day life. 
I don’t remember what I was reading, probably some fantasy or slow horror novel or something. You know, one of those stories where the main character doesn’t realize he’s in a horror story until it’s far too late. 
Anyway.
I was reading my book, and I’d gotten to the end of a chapter when I looked up from the page, and he was just kind of, well, sitting there, right in front of me; watching me patiently, as if he were waiting for me to notice him. I couldn’t help but smile, and reached down to give him a friendly pet on the head.
“Well, hey there, bud. Hello!” He gave me a doggie smile back – one of those big, goofy grins that dogs get when they genuinely like a person. “Well, aren’t you charming?”
He barked.
It startled me, because it was totally unexpected, but at the same time, I wasn’t really surprised. I could already tell that this was one awesome dog. 
 “What’s up, pup?” 
He cocked his head at me in response.
It’s here that I’m supposed to tell you that I don’t normally talk to dogs, and that this was a rare occurrence for me, but that would be a lie. I’ve been known to talk to animals on a regular basis, I just never came across one that seemed to listen and understand me like this dog did.
 I looked around for his owner, but no one in the immediate area seemed to be dog-less. 
 “Huh. Geez, you’re an awesome dog. I’d love to take you home with me, but I’m sure your master—”
He barked again.
“What is it? Do you see your owner…?”
Bark, bark.
“Er. Okay. Where is he, then?” I asked, chuckling. 
The dog looked at me. 
No, I take that back. He stared right at me. 
He had the coolest eyes. They were so… Intelligent. Watchful. Intense. 
I could spend a whole day describing those eyes. They were almost always a brightly colored blue, but just then I saw them flicker to a deep amber color. (I would later learn that this usually happened when he was particularly focused or upset; something I never quite got used to during the time we shared together.)
I stopped laughing. He barked at me again; one, single, solitary bark that said it all. This was too much for me. As wonderful as this dog was, I had to do the right thing. I couldn’t steal this dog away from whomever he belonged to. He was just too incredible.
“What? You can’t come home with me… what will your owner say when he can’t find you…?” 
He just sat there, wagging his tail in response, those knowing eyes looking right at me. I knew, then, that it wasn’t really even my choice after all.

After that, we were inseparable. He’d come with me almost everywhere I went – and the strangest part of it was that no matter where we were, no one seemed to mind that I had brought this (awesome, wonderful, amazing) dog into the store or to the beach or into the library with me. I guess… he had an air, or an aura about him, or… something that made it so that people didn’t mind that he was with me, even though most places nowadays would never let a dog in through their doors unless it was a service dog.
What’s more, with him around, my life suddenly felt much more fantastic. Gone was the doldrum existence that I hadn’t even realized I’d been living. Every day felt it like there was a new adventure waiting to happen; we just had to find it. And he would always surprise me by doing just that: he would lead me just a little farther down the street, or around a non-descript corner, or through a nearby alleyway, and there would be something wonderful or interesting there waiting for us to find it. 
Soon I realized that no matter what that thing was, it almost always involved helping people. Sometimes it was a cat stuck in a tree, or a neighbor who’d just lost the laundry she was hanging up, you know, little things that mean a lot to the people they happen to. But sometimes it was bigger than that: a falling branch from the previous night’s storm might go unnoticed by a passer by, until my dog would knock them out of the way before it fell on top of them. Or perhaps a child was being harassed for her lunch money; that is, until a snarling dog was suddenly between the victim and her bullies. I began to get a sense of where and when these things might happen, and soon, instead of being led into adventure, my dog and I would both leap into action doing Good.
It was kind of awesome; almost like being a superhero, but without a cape or costume. The feeling of helping people was exhilarating and wonderful. While this in and of itself was its own reward, sometimes the universe would allow something a little extra bonus here or there. In one instance, we lent an extra hand (and an extra umbrella) to a woman who was trying to maneuver a particularly large catering order into her delivery truck in the rain. Not only did she reward us with free cookies, but we started talking and discovered a common interest in music and art; by the time we had finished loading her truck, she offered me her phone number as well. We stopped dating about a year ago, but she and I are still close friends, and I often think about how different my life might have been without her.

One day, my dog and I had driven down to visit my parents. They really weren’t sure how to react to him – he was so well behaved, but always watching them. Just watching. 
I think he knew they would never understand the life we lead, him and me. But he also seemed to respect that they were my parents (even though I was adopted), and that although I might not have picked them if I had the choice, I (and he, by proxy) was still stuck with them. The house itself had made him even more uneasy than my parents, although I couldn’t figure out why at first. That is, until he showed me.
It was odd; so very odd. At the time, my sister had been living with my parents, and had set up a sort of art studio in the basement. He picked up one of her brushes in his teeth and started to paint on the wall. I knew something was up, but I trusted him completely. 
He had sketched something out in less than a minute. I knew exactly what it was when he was done. Of course I did. Who understood me better than my dog?
He looked at me with caution and concern, but the look was more than that. It was also a question.
“I’m coming with you,” I told him. He stood in front of me, blocking my way. 
Are you sure? It will be dangerous.
“You can’t stop me – if you go, I go.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then gave me a sage nod.
Gracefully, he turned and went charging headlong, into the fray of demons, his amber eyes aglow, all snarly and snapping ferociously, courageously, fighting off the evil aberrations to prevent them from entering through the portal into our world.

And as the door slowly closed, as silently as it had opened, hot tears fell down my cheeks, because, secretly, I wasn’t brave enough to join him.