Every morning, Murphy's kennel looks slightly wrong.

His blanket is still on the bed.

His food bowl is where it was left.

But the water bowl is not.

Instead, it is sitting against the edge of his mattress.

Sometimes it is partly on the bedding.

And Murphy, an eight-year-old Bloodhound, is asleep with his enormous head lowered over it.

His chin rests inside the nearly empty bowl.

At first, it seems possible that someone moved it.

Then the kennel camera reveals what happens after everyone leaves.

Late at night, Murphy gets up.

He walks to his water.

He drinks.

Then, when only a little remains, he closes his mouth around the rim.

The metal scrapes across the floor.

Murphy pulls.

Stops.

Adjusts his grip.

Pulls again.

Slowly, he drags the bowl all the way to his bed.

Only then does he lie down.

And before falling asleep, Murphy lowers his chin directly into the bowl.

Night after night, the same strange ritual repeats.

Murphy Was Found Alone on a Rural Property

Murphy arrived at the shelter after being found alone on a rural property.

He was underweight.

His body showed signs that raised concerns about how long he may have been living with inadequate care or uncomfortable conditions.

Thick calluses covered pressure points on his legs.

Those calluses were particularly noticeable around areas that repeatedly contact the ground while a large dog is resting.

They suggested that Murphy had spent considerable time lying on hard surfaces.

Exactly how he had lived before being found was unknown.

There was no reason to invent details that could not be confirmed.

But his physical condition made one thing clear.

Comfort had not always been easy for him.

His New Bed Should Have Been the Most Interesting Thing

Murphy now had something much softer.

A padded bed gave his large body relief from the kennel floor.

At first, he seemed to understand exactly what it was for.

He stepped onto it.

Turned slowly.

Lowered himself.

His heavy body settled into the mattress.

For an older Bloodhound with callused pressure points, that alone mattered.

But every morning, something else appeared beside him.

The water bowl.

Nobody Could Explain How It Kept Getting There

The bowl began each evening several feet away.

It was placed where Murphy could easily drink without spilling water onto his bedding.

By morning, it had moved.

At first, it seemed accidental.

Perhaps Murphy pushed it while drinking.

Perhaps it slid.

But the distance was too great.

And it repeatedly ended up in almost the same place.

Beside Murphy's head.

The Camera Finally Showed the Answer

Murphy was moving it himself.

The nighttime footage showed him waking after the kennel became quiet.

He rose from the mattress.

Walked toward the bowl.

Drank.

Then stood over it.

For several seconds, he did nothing.

Finally, Murphy lowered his mouth to the rim.

He grabbed it.

The bowl moved.

He Didn't Carry It Easily

Murphy is a large dog, but the movement was awkward.

The metal bowl was not designed to be carried.

His teeth slipped from the smooth edge.

It dropped.

Murphy tried again.

Scrape.

Pause.

Scrape.

The sound traveled through the otherwise quiet kennel.