What's it like to raise a mixed-breed dog?

 It was never supposed to be a story about a community mascot, let alone a heartbreaking tale of a sudden disappearance. In the beginning, the objective was entirely pragmatic: security. At a quiet suburban gas station plagued by persistent nighttime thefts, employees found themselves financially responsible for hundreds of yuan in stolen merchandise month after month. Despite knowing the shift schedules of local police officers, the thieves—ranging from opportunistic nearby factory workers to scavengers—remained elusive. Desperate for a solution, the station management decided to bring in a guard dog.

What arrived, however, was a tiny mixed-breed puppy that left the entire staff thoroughly baffled. Named Mengmeng, and later formally dubbed "Go, Tuichiro" in a humorous attempt to give her a more intimidating, masculine presence, the young mongrel was immediately showered with baby formula, milk powder, and standard puppy care essentials. It did not take long for her true colors to emerge, shattering any illusions that she would ever become a fierce defender of corporate property.

Instead of patrolling the perimeter, Tuichiro revealed herself to be an expert in the art of affection and psychological manipulation. Staff members quickly realized she possessed an Oscar-worthy talent for acting. Whenever placed in a cage, she would masterfully pretend to be stuck, only to casually escape the moment staff inspections concluded. On other occasions, she successfully faked being frozen, overheated, or having her paws stepped on. Her pathetic cries and genuinely sorrowful eyes were so convincing that unsuspecting customers, consumed by immediate guilt, would readily offer her sausages and head scratches. The ruse was only uncovered when employees happened to review the station's security footage, catching the canine mastermind completely dropping the act the moment the treats were secured.

Far from being a deterrent to criminals, Tuichiro’s hospitality became a running joke. During a controlled security test, staff members tied her near the inventory and had a stranger pretend to steal crates of water. The security camera captured a scene of pure comedy: rather than barking, the dog enthusiastically welcomed the "thief," nudged her head forward for a friendly touch, and joyfully wagged her tail as she escorted the intruder off the premises. The station manager later remarked, with a mix of amusement and resignation, that the company’s customer service was simply not as enthusiastic as the dog’s.

Inevitably, the guard dog project was declared a total failure, and Tuichiro was officially reassigned as the station mascot. Her presence transformed the daily routine of the workplace. Local residents and regular customers began stopping by the station just to interact with her, completely bypassing the fuel pumps. Employees from an adjacent corporate building made it a daily habit to secretly feed her eggs, canned food, and avocados, successfully turning the former stray into a remarkably picky eater. At lunchtime, the primary question among colleagues shifted from asking if they themselves had eaten to ensuring the dog had been properly fed. Even the station manager became fiercely protective, declaring that the dog would remain a permanent fixture of the establishment and jokingly using her unparalleled friendliness as the corporate benchmark for human customer service.

However, the lighthearted atmosphere at the station took a somber turn during the winter season. In a sudden twist of misfortune, Tuichiro vanished. For days, devastated employees searched the surrounding areas, but the lively mixed-breed dog who used to actively supervise their shifts was nowhere to be found. The loss left a profound void; when management floated the idea of immediately replacing her, the staff collectively refused, unable to bear the thought of trying to substitute a companion who had become so deeply woven into the fabric of their daily lives.

The consequences of her absence were felt almost immediately. Following the Spring Festival, nighttime thefts at the gas station escalated dramatically. In one particularly frustrating incident, an employee managed to tackle a thief to the ground, only for the criminal to later falsely allege assault and demand substantial medical compensation for a broken leg—a claim disproven only by a meticulous review of the station's security cameras.

Faced with a rapidly deteriorating security situation and the vulnerability of working the night shift alone, the exhausted staff recently came to a collective agreement. While no animal could ever truly replace the unique, theatrical spirit of Tuichiro, the reality of running a late-night business demanded a deterrent. The station has since welcomed a new canine addition—this time, with the simple, practical hope that it might at least bark at strangers and keep the nighttime attendants company in an increasingly unpredictable environment.