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.”
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.”
“What’s wrong?”Continue reading…
