Wesley walked today rather than ran. Too tired to run, he needed time for introspection, processing, and perhaps a re-balancing of his inner psyche. He had always prided himself on his self-control and equilibrium. Rarely did he lose his temper or act without thought. Wesley started the play list that featured Janiva Magness and walked the streets of Asheville with her sultry voice soothing his savage breast.

Then Wesley saw him. The ugliest, mangiest looking dog Wesley ever. The few spots where he had hair were brown. One leg was missing. One ear looked chewed off and the way he cocked his head made Wesley think the dog was blind in one eye. “Hey there,” Wesley said. The dog took a step back. Wesley kneeled on the damp ground. “Hey boy.”

The dog held his ground this time. He cocked his head and watched Wesley with his good eye. Using the universal and timeless signal between dogs and the people they owned everywhere, Wesley clucked his tongue. The dog’s one good ear twitched. A little.

Turning around, Wesley took a few steps away from the three-legged, one-eyed, one-eared dog and whistled. The dog barked. Wesley kept walking. The dog barked again. Twice. Louder this time. Wesley turned back and looked at the dog. “Come on, if you want to,” said Wesley with a smile. The dog barked at Wesley, and then he trotted to where Wesley stood, looked up at him and barked. Man and dog walked the streets of Asheville.

Back at the parsonage, Wesley knew he would be late for work, but he did not care. The dog needed to eat.

“As funny as it would be to watch you eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, how about I give you corned beef hash? It’s canned. I haven’t had time to make fresh–but I will, I promise. Just for you. Well, and me. I’ll have some of this as well for my breakfast. You won’t care if I heat it or not. So, let’s rough it and eat it straight out of the can. You know, like the cavemen did.” The dog sat back on his one good haunch and waited–like dogs do.

“Here you go, pal.” Wesley spooned half of the can onto a paper plate. “You know, missing a couple body parts like you do, looks like you have stories to tell. You may be the luckiest dog alive.” Wesley kept up a constant stream of chatter to put the dog at ease. The dog barked and moved closer. Wesley took the opportunity, while the dog devoured his food, to check the dog’s collar and tag.

“George.”

The dog stopped eating, backed up, and growled.

Wesley looked at the dog and said it again. “George.”

The dog growled and barked. It was a different bark from any of the earlier barks.

Wesley pointed at the collar and tag. “The tag says your name is George,” reasoned Wesley.

George growled and barked.

Wesley squatted and clicked his tongue. “Come here, boy.”

He placed a slight emphasis on the last word. George wagged his tail and inched close enough to resume eating, which he did.

“George,” said Wesley. “George” backed up a few feet–out of Wesley’s reach. His one good eye darted between Wesley and the half-eaten corned beef hash.

“Come here.” Wesley clicked his tongue.

The dog stared at Wesley for a moment before coming close enough to eat his few remaining bites.

“Well, it looks like you don’t care much for your old name. I bet I can call you anything if I feed you. How about…Lucky?”

Wesley looked over “Lucky’s” three-legged, one-eared, and one-eyed body and just shook his head at the irony of calling this dog “Lucky.” That sealed it. “I wonder if you only have one nostril working?” Wesley laughed. “You oughta see the other dog, huh? Right, Lucky?”

Wesley kneeled and scratched behind the dog’s good ear and repeated his new name — Lucky. Before Wesley left for work, he pulled up the picture of his family on his cell phone and introduced the newest member of his family to the picture of his wife and daughter.

Lucky finished the can of cold corned beef hash and drank water from the empty can.