“I’m writing an essay about heroes. Can I write about you?”
“Yes I will.”
She won a school contest for her essay: “Angels Wear Leather: How a Biker Saved My Family.” Teachers cried. Parents cried. Kids wanted to know who the “biker angel” was.
We started a rescue fund called “Daisy’s Angels.” Kids donate tooth fairy money; riders and neighbors donate bigger sums. We’ve saved dozens of dogs since.
Madison’s twelve now. She’s tough, tender, full of compassion. She still calls me Mr. Bear Angel.
One evening she read her essay aloud:
“Mr. Bear taught me that family isn’t always about blood. Sometimes it’s about a biker who finds a dying dog at 3 AM and refuses to let her die. Sometimes it’s someone who shows up for five years, week after week, just to make sure you’re okay. Sometimes it’s someone who becomes family by choice. Mr. Bear is my angel, my hero, my family.”
Her father nodded. “You saved us all.”
We buried Daisy in my backyard. Madison visits weekly. Talks to her dog. Tells her about her day. Reminds her she’s not forgotten.
“Yes?”
“You gave her one more year. One more year of love.”
“Your tooth fairy money saved her.”
She grins. “Best investment ever.”
Because sometimes, all it takes is $7.43, a crayon note, and someone willing to ride toward a whimper in the dark.
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