She tried to stand. Couldn’t. The tumor was too heavy. But she kept wagging, kept looking at me with those brown eyes that said “I’m a good dog. I’m a good dog.”
There was a bowl of water. Still fresh. A blanket. Her toy – a stuffed duck that had seen better days. And taped to the beam, a note.
I was about to call animal control when I saw something else. A second note, tucked into her collar. Different handwriting. Child’s scrawl in purple crayon.
“Please save Daisy. She’s all I have left since Mommy went to heaven. Daddy says she has to die but I know angels ride motorcycles because Mommy said so. I prayed you’d find her. There’s $7.43 in her collar. It’s all my tooth fairy money. Please don’t let her die alone. Love, Madison, age 7. P.S. Daisy likes peanut butter and knows how to shake hands.”
Inside the collar, wrapped in plastic, was $7.43 in quarters and dimes.
I sat down on that cold concrete and cried. This little girl thought $7.43 could save her dog. Thought angels rode motorcycles. Thought prayers worked.
Daisy crawled over, dragging that tumor, and put her head in my lap.
“Your little girl loves you,” I told her. “And she’s right. Sometimes angels do ride motorcycles.”
I called my vet. Dr. Amy. Known her twenty years.
“Amy? It’s Bear. I know it’s 3 AM but I need you.”
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