What are the opening hours?

Monday 10am - 7pm Tuesday 10am - 7pm Wednesday 10am - 7pm Thursday 10am - 7pm Friday 10am - 7pm Saturday 10am - 7pm Sunday 10am - 7pm

http://www.Porchswinglubbock.com/

The Porch Swing Assisted Living Home, 3315 55th Street, Lubbock, TX (2025)

07/14/2025

06/27/2025

He's standing, his paws gently resting against the glass. Just like he’s done for weeks. Months.
Maybe longer. Every day, he watches. He waits. He hopes.
He’s not the kind of dog that jumps, barks, or begs. He’s the kind of dog that waits. Quietly.
With dignity.
And today, he smiles.
That smile—awkward, but radiant—was born from a promise he barely dared to make anymore:
What if, this time… it’s real?
Because this time, someone stopped.
Someone looked beyond his tired eyes.
Someone didn’t just walk past his cage saying, “too old,” “too big,” “not the right time.”
No. This time, someone saw his soul.
He held on, through it all.
Through grey days and cold nights. Through meals eaten in a corner, without a glance, without
a touch.
Through the noise, the cries, the goodbyes he watched in silence—from the other side of the
bars.
He saw friends leave, cage-mates disappear.
And he stayed.
With that flicker in his eyes—the spark of hope that refused to die.
All this time, he never stopped loving.
He never stopped believing that a human might still reach out to him.
Even if he didn’t understand why he was left there.
Even if he didn’t know what he’d done wrong.
Even if he cried the first days, the first nights.
But today, something feels different.
He can tell.
The human’s footsteps are slower. The gaze is softer.
The hand doesn’t move on to the next cage.
It stops.
It reaches out.
A collar is placed around his neck. A leash clipped on.
But this time, it’s not to move him to another cage.
Not to weigh him, not for a vet visit.
This time, it’s to leave.
Really leave.
For good.
He’s going to get in a car.
He’ll discover a home—maybe a bed.
A name that will become his own.
A voice that will call him every day—not just to say “sit,” but to say “I love you.”
He’ll learn he can sleep without flinching.
He can eat without watching his back.
He can rest his head on a pillow… and on a heart.
And the smile he wears today?
It’s not just joy.
It’s freedom.
The smile of someone who never stopped hoping, even locked away.
Even invisible.
The smile of someone who waited.
And, at last—was chosen.