Sometimes, you don’t find the dog. The dog finds you.

Six years ago, we spotted Gatsby alone at an intersection in Bellflower, California, surrounded by broken glass. He had a collar on, but no owner in sight. When we pulled over to help, he made it very clear that he was terrified—showing his teeth, growling, and keeping his distance.

Instead of pushing him, I sat nearby for 45 minutes and waited. Eventually, Gatsby decided I was safe enough to trust. He walked over, climbed into my lap, and curled up.

We brought him to a local rescue, where he stayed for a week while we tried to figure out where he belonged. I called every day to check on him, only to learn that he was completely shutting down. He wouldn’t eat and was too frightened to let anyone near him.

After a week, I went to visit. Gatsby slowly walked over, sniffed my shoes, and suddenly realized who I was. His tail started wagging uncontrollably, followed by some very enthusiastic excited peeing all over me.

That was it. Gatsby was coming home.

His microchip eventually led us to a previous owner, who told us they believed they had found him a good home. What happened between then and the day we found him, we’ll never know.

Gatsby came to us with some lingering behavioral quirks, likely shaped by whatever he experienced before us. He needed patience, consistency, and a family willing to understand him rather than change who he was. In return, he has taught us just as much about patience, trust, and unconditional love.

Today, Gatsby is six years old and an incredibly loyal, loving boy. He was the ring bearer at our wedding and is now adjusting spectacularly to life in Skaneateles.

He even helps his mom with Reyning Canines Dog Training, occasionally serving as a “tester dog” when working with clients on leash reactivity. At home, he keeps a watchful eye on his canine siblings and makes sure nobody gets too out of line—earning him his family nickname, “The Sheriff.”

We thought we were simply pulling over to help a lost dog that day.

Instead, we found a member of our family—or, perhaps more accurately, Gatsby found us.