Rachel, Your loss has stayed with me and your story is here in the Mid Atlantic too because all roads from the South lead North - you know?
A story about not losing hope - I had the privilege of knowing a long-haired Chestnut called BearBear. A problem child for every owner, he was going to be put down because his impulsive behavior and size (130+) made him a danger to self and others. Not aggression mind you, just crazy stuff like chasing a horse, being kicked in the head (metal plate in skull), chasing truck, grabbing bumper (multiple contusions, fractured/pinned hip), the list goes on. His last owner before me put a cow chain on him and he took off with that too. His owner gave up but his vet knew me, introduced all involved, and BearBear was mine (and the first thing he did literally was put me face first on concrete, not to run away but in an effort to beat me to my truck and get in).
BearBear graced my home and I worked with him every single day. Finally, we reached an agreement. He would learn to walk and I'd take flying lessons to learn how to land softer. I've never met a stronger more determined dog in my life.
One night, while I was at work, someone tried to break into my house. BearBear got up on the kitchen table and leaped through the glass window dropping 8-10 feet to the ground and was gone (whomever was burgling changed their mind). But BearBear was gone. At the time, I did live in the country in a place where virtually no dogs made it out of the county shelter and farmers shot anything that even looked at their farms wrong. I could not sleep or eat. I walked, called, talked, drove for 14 days. I called the person responsible for picking up strays, road kill, etc., every day. After 14 days and the knowledge that we were certainly out of time, I called the shelter 1 more time only to be told again that they had no dog matching BearBear's description. They only had 1 dog that looked like a drowned rat, covered in filth, that had been taken from a farm when the farmer caught the dog chasing chickens. Apparently, with hundreds of chickens to choose from, the dog in question only chased but didn't seem to want to catch them. The farmer put his gun down and called the county to tell them they had better hurry before he changed his mind. The shelter man then said as soon as he drove up, he opened his truck door only to have this big lump of chicken poop jump right into the front seat and he still hadn't gotten the smell out.
I don't think I hung up the phone. I got there in record time and the only way I recognized my BearBear was because when I went to the kennel, he stood up on his hind legs to greet me. BearBear had many good years with us and everyone who knew him not only loved him but thought he was the luckiest dog they'd ever known.
Just as I know there is false hope spread everyday, I also know there are miracles for our pets. I won't stop hoping that you get one too.