He’s the kind of kid who thanks the bus driver, waves at the garbage truck, and stops to help an insect flip itself over. That’s just who he is — quiet kindness wrapped in a little boy’s body.
Then one day I left work early and took the long route home. That’s when I saw him duck behind the old hardware store. I followed from a distance and watched him unwrap a sandwich, break it in half, and place one piece beside a rusted dumpster. A bedraggled little dog crawled out, ribs visible, tail wagging with desperate gratitude. Theo fed him, gave him water, and talked to him like they were lifelong friends. The dog he later named Rusty.
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