This daily occurrence slowly transformed into a neighborhood mystery, captivating locals.
They started sharing theories over backyard fences and at the corner grocery store. “Maybe his owner dropped a toy down there,” said Lisa, who worked at the pet groomer’s. “My dog would sit by a drain for hours if I lost her favorite ball.” “Nah, he’s too calm for that,” argued Mr. Henderson, Mrs. Henderson’s husband, who’d served in the army and prided himself on reading body language. “Dogs get frantic when they’re looking for a toy. This one’s… determined. Like he’s on a mission.” “What if his owner’s stuck down there?” a kid from three houses over asked, wide-eyed, but his mom shushed him, saying, “Don’t be silly, Jake. The drains don’t go anywhere big enough for a person.” Still, the question hung in the air—why else would a dog stay so loyal to a single spot, day after day, even when the sun beat down or the wind blew cold?
While walking his own dog, a scruffy terrier mix named Charlie, Dave encountered the shepherd one Tuesday afternoon. Charlie, who usually pulled at his leash to sniff every fire hydrant and mailbox, stopped short when he saw the larger dog, his tail tucked between his legs.
Dave, who’d heard the neighborhood chatter but hadn’t paid much attention, glanced at the shepherd and thought, Just another stray. He tugged Charlie’s leash, saying, “C’mon, boy, let’s go—he’s not botherin’ anyone.” But as they walked away, Dave found himself glancing over his shoulder. The shepherd hadn’t moved. Not even a twitch. It was like he was a statue, carved from fur and focus, rooted to the spot.