In February we buried Brownie, our 15-year-old totally lovable, partially labrador retriever.

In April his replacement came.

It never takes long for another mangy mutt to stumble up our driveway and take up residence.

We were down to three dogs, all of whom had arrived unexpected and uninvited but stayed anyway.

I came home from work that day to find a dead dog in my flower bed in the backyard.

I thought it was dead.

It lay very still, a good size black dog of unknown origin, stretched out beside the rose bush.

As I approached it looked at me with soft brown eyes that followed my movements. The critter was wounded; there was no skin across its chest and I could see every muscle. I’ll never know what sort of entanglement the dog had suffered to incur such an injury, but it was obvious that the animal’s condition was weakened by hunger as well.

I offered food and water as my three yard dogs barked a chorus of alarm at this intruder in their territory. Never mind the fact that this refugee offered no threat whatsoever to them or to their food supply which is purchased in 50 pound bags and distributed liberally twice each day.

I had assumed that we’d be digging a hole within hours to bury the dog near Brownie’s grave, but to my surprise, it got up and ate. A lot.

I was able to determine the sex: female. Of course. And she was a puppy, around six months old, with some labrador tendencies, but a funny, big head. And she was covered with ticks. Of course.

Rupert arrived home and we assessed the situation. We would not try to get her to a vet. The wound seemed severe but there seemed to be no way to stitch her up. There was no skin to stitch. We would provide food and water and leave her alone.

She perked up.

Eventually we dosed her with some antibiotics and treated her for ticks and fleas. She got better. And friendlier.

She started following us around. We named her Shadow, thereby committing ourselves to be her owners. By then, she knew it, too.

The gash in her chest grew smaller every day and she grew more playful.

Also, I noticed a real desire on her part to be accepted into the pack. She wanted to be one of the guys, a doggy buddy to Mo, Lulu and Peyton. She learned the hard way to leave the cat alone.

Soon after she came I was on the back porch distributing dog biscuits in our traditional fashion: I call on each dog to sit and then I reward him or her with a treat.

“Sit, Mo.”

Mo sits and gets his biscuit.

After Shadow observed this, I turned to her and she was happily sitting, awaiting her treat.

She got it after watching the process one time.

Is she a smart dog or what?

She has become quite protective of her new home/family. Shadow has a deep, forceful bark which she employs when the other dogs start yapping at some perceived trespasser, be it a deer out back or neighbor Phil approaching from across the road.

Shadow’s wound has now closed almost completely. She’s been vaccinated, wormed and spayed.

And absolutely accepted into our pack.