Biker Was Crying Over A Thing In That Blue Towel And I Had To Pull Over To See What Broke This Tough Man

That’s when I saw him. A towering man in a leather vest, kneeling in the ditch, lifting something small and fragile with the kind of care you’d use to hold glass. He wrapped it in a blue-and-white striped towel and cradled it against his chest like it was precious.

The tenderness in his movements stopped me cold. I pulled over without thinking. I had to know what could make a man like that cry.

He didn’t notice me at first. He was rocking gently, whispering words I couldn’t hear. As I got closer, I saw what he held: a German Shepherd puppy, maybe four months old, bloodied and filthy. One of her back legs was twisted unnaturally. Her breathing was shallow and fast.

“Is he okay?” I asked, stupidly.

The biker looked up. Tears streamed into his beard, his eyes red and raw. “Someone hit her and kept going,” he said, voice cracking. “She dragged herself into the ditch. I heard her crying when I rode past.”

The anguish in his face made me ashamed. I’d spent years crossing the street to avoid men like him. And here he was, stopping his ride to save a dying animal.

“I called the emergency vet,” he said. “They’re twenty minutes away in Riverside. I don’t think she has twenty minutes.”Continue reading…