Part 9: “The Day He Didn’t Get Up”
It was a Tuesday in March when the light felt off.
Too pale. Too still.
The snow had melted into the earth, leaving behind patches of stubborn mud and wet cedar needles that clung to boots and paws alike. The bus horn echoed its usual cough at the top of Red Hollow Road, and Sadie jumped down in her red sneakers, her backpack bouncing like always.
But something was wrong.
He wasn’t there.
Shadow didn’t greet her at the gate.
Didn’t trot up the porch steps or bark once in that funny, grumbly way he had.
Sadie froze mid-step.
Laurel was already walking fast toward her, hands wiping nervously on her jeans, eyes red around the edges.
“He’s inside,” she said gently. “He’s… not feeling too good today.”
Sadie dropped her backpack without unzipping it. “Did he get hurt again?”
“No, sweetheart,” Laurel said. “I think… I think his heart is just tired.”
They found him lying on the rug by the fireplace. His breathing was shallow, but steady. One paw twitched now and then, like he was dreaming of a field or a road or a child who once needed him more than anything.
Sadie knelt beside him and touched the red collar. It felt warm still.
Shadow’s eyes fluttered open.
Not wide. Not sharp. Just enough to see her.
Sadie pressed her forehead to his.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I remember everything.”
Laurel called Dr. Park again.
He came in the fading light, his voice hushed, his hands sure.
Sadie wouldn’t leave Shadow’s side.
When Dr. Park looked at Laurel and gave the smallest nod, Laurel knelt beside Sadie and wrapped her arms around her.
“We don’t have to say goodbye,” Laurel said. “Not really. We just tell him it’s okay to rest now.”
Sadie nodded, tears streaming freely.
“Good boy,” she whispered into his fur. “You can go. I’m not scared anymore.”
Shadow passed with a quiet sigh.
No struggle. No pain.
Just a long breath out, like he’d been holding the weight of something for years, and now… he could finally set it down.
They buried him beneath the sycamore, next to the buried drawing and the rusted tin box that held Grandma Elsie’s recipe cards
Laurel carved a simple wooden marker by hand:
SHADOW
He followed. He guarded. He stayed.
The next morning, Sadie stood at the window again, waiting for the bus.
The road looked the same. The trees stood the same. The mailbox still leaned a little to the left.
But it felt emptier.
Like a word left off a sentence.
When the bus pulled up, she turned to Laurel.
“Will it always hurt this much?”
Laurel bent down and kissed her temple.
“Only because he mattered so much.”
Sadie didn’t speak. But she took her backpack, walked to the road, and paused where Shadow always stood.
She looked out at the gravel, the woods, the old fence line.
Then she smiled.
“I remember,” she said aloud. “Every single step.”
And she climbed onto the bus without looking back.