Who Is Ignition?

Nobody remembers who owned Ignition first. Joe found him curled up under the axle of a burnt-out tow truck, eyes open, not flinching, covered in soot and shrapnel. Didn’t growl. Didn’t move. Just stared. Joe tossed him a wrench, and the dog didn’t blink. That was enough.

He don’t chase. He don’t bark. He just watches — and follows — and waits. People say he’s part hound, part ghost, part leftover military experiment. He’s got a chipped tooth, a torn ear, and a metal bolt embedded in his back leg. Some say he limps. Others say he’s measuring.

Ignition sleeps under the floorboards of Joe’s mobile garage. He’s been seen chewing VIN plates, guarding barrels, and dragging empty duffel bags back from the woods. No one’s ever taught him tricks, but he once disabled a GPS tracker by pissing on it — intentionally. Probably.

Granny don’t trust him. Says he’s “got eyes like a revenant.” Cletus tried to feed him jerky once and got ignored. Sheriff Bo once stepped too close to Joe’s truck — and got growled at so low it set off the backup alarm.

He only moves when Joe does. Never rides up front. Never makes a sound unless something’s wrong. When you hear Ignition pacing, you’re already too late.

Legacy

Some dogs are trained. Some are born loyal. Ignition just appeared — and never left. Folks say he’s got diesel in his blood and brake fluid in his veins. Joe won’t talk about him, but once called him “the best anti-theft system I ever had.”

He don’t play. He don’t fetch. He don’t care.
He just waits, watches… and remembers who took what.