The Ghost Dog of Christmas Past

It was the night after a long day of training Shiloh, one of our American Dirus dogs, and I was finally heading home.

The roads were quiet.

The December chill crept in through the edges of my car’s windows, forming delicate frost patterns that sparkled faintly under the glow of passing streetlights.

I still had an hour to go, but the thought of a double Big Carl lettuce wrap sitting in the passenger seat made the journey feel more bearable.

Pulling through the drive-thru of the fast-food joint, I grabbed my burger, rounded the corner, and then—

There he was!

At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.

In the empty lot adjacent to the drive-thru stood a dog—a magnificent, silver-coated giant tethered to a thin man who shuffled aimlessly, as if searching for something in the cold.

The dog’s silhouette was unmistakable:

• broad, straight back
• giant paws
• black-tipped ears
• white face
• short, fluffy tail with a slight curve at the end
• a familiar grace in the way he moved
  
  
  My heart skipped a beat.

"Essex?" I whispered, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white.

It couldn’t be.

Essex had been my heart dog, the American Dirus companion I had poured my soul into raising.

Years ago, he’d left my care to live with a famous horror novelist in New York.

I thought of him often, especially now that I was raising his grandson, Mustang Boss, who looks so much like him it is uncanny.

But Essex?

Here?

In the outskirts of Spokane on a moonless December night?

I pulled closer, my burger forgotten.

The dog’s coat shimmered in the dim light, the silver catching hints of black that weren’t quite right.

His face—oh, I’d never forget that face!—was almost identical to Essex’s.

The white muzzle, those piercing slanted eyes.

But something was different, just enough to make me doubt.

"Excuse me!" I called out, rolling down my window.

My voice trembled. "You have a gorgeous dog! What kind is he?"

The man turned slowly, as though waking from a trance.

His face was obscured by the shadows, but his voice was calm, deliberate.

"He’s a wolf dog."

A wolf dog?

That didn’t make sense.

This dog was too perfect, too familiar.

I stepped out of the car, clutching my jacket against the biting wind.

"Mind if I ask where you got him?"

My words hung in the air, my breath forming little clouds that dissipated quickly.

The man tilted his head, as if trying to remember.

His voice was barely more than a murmur. "He found me."

"Found you?" My curiosity burned hotter now.

The dog, standing so still and composed, turned his head to look at me.

Those yellow eyes met mine, and for a moment, it felt like time stopped.

I was struck with an overwhelming sense of familiarity, like looking into the eyes of an old friend.

"You look like Essex," I whispered, squinting in the dim light from the streetlamp to get a closer look.

The dog padded forward, his movements eerily smooth, almost gliding over the frostbitten ground.

He sniffed the air between us, his tail curling just slightly at the tip, the way Essex’s had.

Then, just as quickly as the moment came, the man tugged on the leash.

"We should go," he said, his tone final.

Without another word, he turned and began walking away into the dark field beyond the lot.

"Wait!" I called after him, my voice catching. "What’s his name?"

The man paused, half-turning. "His name?"

His voice lingered, as if he hadn’t thought about it before.

"Echo."

A shiver ran through me—not from the cold, but from something deeper.

I watched as they disappeared into the night, the dog’s silvery coat glowing faintly until it faded into the darkness.

Back in my car, I sat staring at the empty lot.

The burger was lukewarm by the time I unwrapped it, but I barely noticed.

When I got home, I went straight to Mustang’s crate. His little tail wagged furiously, and his bright yellow eyes shone with excitement to see me.

As I knelt to rub his ears, I couldn’t help but think of that ghostly figure in the parking lot.

Was it really Essex?

Or had my memories, so vivid and bittersweet, conjured him into existence?

Maybe he had come to remind me of the bond we’d shared and to assure me that his legacy lived on in the next generation.

Whatever the truth, I knew one thing for certain: a dog, even a ghostly one, has a way of reaching into our hearts and leaving a mark that time can never erase.

If you'd like to learn more about the incredible American Dirus dog breed, their devotion, and their unmatched temperament, take a look at Mustang and all the breeding dogs we have here at Dire Wolf Project headquarters.

https://direwolfdogs.com/dogs/

Because whether in this life or the next, a dog’s love stays with you forever.

Jennifer Stoeckl is the co-founder of the Dire Wolf Project, founder of the DireWolf Guardians American Dirus Dog Training Program, and owner/operator of DireWolf Dogs of Vallecito. She lives in the beautiful inland northwest among the Ponderosa pine forests with her pack of American Dirus dogs.