Rugy pressed his nose against the cold glass of the shelter window. His brown and white fur was patchy in spots where old wounds had healed. Bandages wrapped around both front paws made walking difficult. Outside, people walked past without looking in. He watched each one, hoping someone would stop. Hoping someone would see him and want to take him home. Not just for a day or a week, but forever. That's all he wanted—a person who would keep him, love him, and never leave. His tail gave a small wag at the thought. Someday, someone kind would come through that door and choose him. The shelter worker opened Rugy's kennel and clipped a leash to his collar. Today he would sit in the free dog box outside. The rustic wooden structure had open sides so people could see him clearly. A soft cushion lined the bottom. The worker lifted him gently and carried him to the box. Rugy settled onto the cushion and watched the street. Hours passed. People stopped to read the sign above his head. Some bent down to look at him. A few reached in to pet his ears. But each time, they walked away. Rugy's ears drooped lower with each goodbye. His paws ached under the bandages. The sun moved across the sky and the street grew quieter. The worker returned as shadows grew long. She scratched behind his ears and whispered that tomorrow would be different. Rugy licked her hand. He had seen the abandoned dog sanctuary down the road—its walls covered in ivy, its gates rusted shut. Dogs who gave up ended up forgotten in places like that. But not him. He would keep trying. Somewhere in this town was a cozy home with his name on it. A place where he would belong. He just had to wait a little longer.