Ritchie was his dog—a scruffy, aging mutt with more gray than brown left in his fur. Fifteen years earlier, the man had found him shivering by the roadside and taken him home. They’d been inseparable ever since. Together, they’d buried a wife, mourned a son, and outlived nearly everyone they loved. Ritchie had become his shadow, his comfort, his reason to get up each day.
That afternoon, when the nurse stepped in to check his vitals, he clutched her wrist with unexpected strength. “Please,” he whispered, eyes shining. “I need to see Ritchie. I can’t leave without saying goodbye.”
“I’ll try,” she said gently.
When she approached the head physician, he stared at her like she’d lost her senses. “You know the rules,” he said. Then after a long, thoughtful pause, he sighed. “But… if it’s truly his last request, maybe we bend them. Just this once.”
Two hours later, a bark echoed down the hallway. Nurses stopped mid-stride. A thin dog with a graying muzzle stood at the doorway, tail wagging weakly, scanning the room until his eyes landed on the man.
The nurse opened the door. Ritchie trotted inside, paying no mind to anyone else. He climbed onto the bed with careful steps, avoiding the wires and tubes, and curled against his human.
“My boy,” the man whispered, threading trembling fingers through the familiar fur. “You made it.”
Ritchie pressed his head to the man’s chest, aligning his breathing with the fading heartbeat beneath. Tears slid down the man’s cheeks as he stroked him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I wasn’t always enough. But thank you… for staying.”
The dog let out a soft whimper, as if answering, “I know.”Continue reading…
