After my husband’s college reunion, we stopped at Waffle House for a little “feel-better” meal. As we walked out, a loud call caught my attention. Sitting in a crate in the back of a truck was a black-and-tan **German Shepherd**. 🐕🦺
As I walked closer, two men ran out of the restaurant and said,
“Do you want the dog? You can take him.”
My husband replied,
“No thanks, we already have two dogs.”
I agreed—until one of them added,
“We’re going to dispose of him after breakfast. Taking him would just save us the trouble.”
I snapped back,
“Excuse me? What do you mean, dispose?”
They explained that this German Shepherd didn’t want to guard, wasn’t aggressive, and showed no interest in the kind of “protection work” they tried to train him for. They had spent a lot of money and decided it was easier to get rid of him than find him a home.
I looked at my husband and said,
“Put the dog in the car. We’ll find him a home later—but I can’t leave him here.”
My husband wasn’t thrilled, but he agreed. The German Shepherd was terrified and just wanted to stay close, leaning into us for safety and reassurance. 🐾
When we got home, we introduced him to our dogs and checked his temperament. He passed everything with ease—calm, affectionate, and deeply bonded to people. No guarding, no jobs—family was all he wanted.
A rescue group later called to say someone wanted him. After hanging up, my husband’s eyes filled with tears.
“I can’t do it,” he said. “The moment we put him in the car, he became part of our family.”
Now this gentle, loyal German Shepherd is stretched out on our couch—safe, loved, and exactly where he belongs.
The only thing we ever brought home from Waffle House and never regretted… was him.
Credit: German shepherd mafia
