It started like any other morning—Leo, in his dinosaur hoodie, rushing through breakfast while Max, our golden retriever, waited under the table for the inevitable spills. Since moving here last spring, Max had developed a strange habit: he’d always walk Leo to the bus stop, but not just walk. Every time, he’d sit beside Leo, place a paw on his knee, and stare at him like he was trying to say something.
Today, Max didn’t even wait for the leash. He trotted ahead, sat down on the sidewalk, and pressed his paw into Leo’s leg. It wasn’t playful, but tense. Leo, looking down at Max, promised he’d be back. But Max didn’t budge.
Then I saw it—a small folded note tied to Max’s paw with dental floss. The note read: “DON’T LET LEO GET ON THE BUS.”
Terrified, I quickly brought Leo inside. Max barked urgently, nudging Leo away from the door. As we waited, I noticed the bus had passed without stopping. Something was off.
Later, our neighbor Mrs. Callahan mentioned seeing a strange man near the bus stop. The description matched someone arrested for attempted kidnapping near the school. Max had known. He’d somehow sensed the danger before any of us did.
Max had saved Leo. And I learned to always trust the unexpected protectors in our lives.
