I discovered a puppy in the trash, but the video showed something far more bizarre.
I initially believed it to be nothing more than a pile of discarded clothing.
The video showed something more stranger than the puppy I found in the trash.
When I first saw it, I thought it was just a heap of old clothes.
Nestled between a pile of trash cans and a wall of cracked cinderblock, a small form was just barely visible beneath a layer of dirt, crushed wrappers, and plastic bags. It wasn’t until I saw a little, timid movement and a slight quiver that I realized it was alive.
A dog. Or a puppy, maybe.
His light-tanned, matted, and spotted fur matched the surrounding soil almost exactly. He didn’t raise his head at first. Just lay there, curled up like a toy left unattended.
I stooped. “Hey, little fellow.” I spoke softly so as not to shock him. His eyes were lifeless, and he blinked slowly—not in fear, but for some other reason. It was as if he didn’t think I would be useful.
I pulled out my phone to video in case I needed to show someone—the shelter, animal control, anyone.
He is seen stirring a little on the video, and you can hear my soft, wary voice. His body barely moves, his ears twitching as he sleeps on a cracked, sun-bleached grocery bag.
Then there was the sound.
There was a sharp snap, like a board breaking or a heavy footfall on dry wood. The sound bounced off the alley walls. Despite my grimace and whirl, I saw nothing.
I didn’t think much of it at the moment.
But that night, as I rewatched the movie on my couch, I noticed something I had never noticed before.
As I kept my eyes on the puppy, I heard movement in the picture’s background a second after the sound.
Hurry. Hardly perceptible. But there, without a doubt. A tall, too-close human figure slipped behind a rubbish can just before the frame tilted.
The shadow wasn’t there. The illumination was real.
There was a person present. observing.
The next morning I headed back to the alley with my towel-wrapped puppy in my passenger seat. I gave him food, gave him the greatest cleaning I could, and even let him to rest with me on a pillow. Patch is the name I gave him.
But the alley felt different now. I looked behind the dumpster and storage unit, up on the fire escape, and everywhere else. Nothing. Not a soul in sight.
There aren’t any cameras around. There were just a few beer cans and fresh, non-mine footprints on the floor.
I filed a report after showing the police the video. They vowed to police the area more often and took it seriously, but I could tell they weren’t sure how to read it either.
The patch is safe now. He has restored his playing ability and gained weight. He still flinches at loud noises, but he wags his tail when I go in.
About whoever or whatever was watching us that day…
Sometimes I still glance over my shoulder. Not quite out of fear. It was just a gut instinct. A reminder that in a busy city, you’re never truly alone.
Especially when you think you are.