“Hey, buddy,” Theo said softly, crouching down. “I saved you some.”
The dog crept forward, sniffed the sandwich, then gulped it down in seconds. Theo smiled and sat cross-legged, munching on his half while watching the dog like they were just two old friends having lunch.
I don’t know how long I watched, but something inside me cracked open. That night, I didn’t say anything. I just packed a little extra in his lunchbox: another sandwich, an apple, and a small jar of honey I’d tucked away for emergencies.
The next morning, he opened the box and looked at me. “Thanks, Mom,” he whispered. After that, it became their routine.
Every day after school, they met at the same spot and followed the same steps. The dog started waiting for him, and Theo named him Rusty. Sometimes, I’d catch a glimpse of them from across the street.
Rusty would wag his tail the second Theo came into view. Theo would sit beside him, talking softly like the dog could understand every word. He never told anyone.
Not a word. It was just their little thing. But, as with all things in small towns, secrets don’t stay secret long.
I overheard it first at the grocery store. “That Turner boy’s feeding strays again,” a woman muttered near the canned soup aisle. “Sweet, but kind of odd, don’t you think?” her friend replied.
I just smiled and kept walking. Let them talk. But things took a different turn at school.
Kids can be mean when they don’t understand something. They started teasing him, calling him Dog Boy. They barked at him in the hallway and laughed when he walked past.
“They laugh, but it doesn’t bother me,” he said. “Rusty doesn’t care.”
That night, I packed even more food. “You never know,” I said as I tucked in another sandwich.Continue reading…
