🐾 PART 7 — How to Say I Love You Without Words
Shadow didn’t get better.
He didn’t get much worse either—at least not right away.
He still wagged his tail when Emma walked through the door. Still followed her from room to room, though now he moved slower, more carefully, as if the world had become heavier beneath his paws.
Emma adjusted.
She placed an old couch cushion near the fireplace and called it “Shadow’s throne.” She started brushing him every afternoon, careful around the sore spots. She added his pills to peanut butter and whispered, “Good boy,” like a prayer.
Her parents noticed.
And they followed her lead.
Her father built a short ramp by the back steps so Shadow wouldn’t have to jump. Her mother Googled “homemade dog treats for aging joints” and tried three different recipes.
It became something they all did together—taking care of the creature who had taken care of their daughter when they hadn’t known how.
Sometimes, Emma wondered if Shadow had been sent.
Not just to save her that night in the woods.
But to save the whole family.
As the school year ended, Emma’s class planned a “Family Pet Day.”
Everyone would bring photos or draw their pets. Some kids promised to bring in their hamsters or goldfish in jars. Emma, for the first time, felt proud to speak.
“I’m bringing Shadow,” she told Mrs. Sanderson. “He saved my life.”
The teacher smiled. “We’d be honored to meet him.”
Her father volunteered to drive them.
The day was bright. Breezy. A rare kind of Missouri spring morning when the air smells like new grass and forgotten hope.
Shadow sat in the passenger seat, head out the window, ears flapping.
Emma sat in the back, hands on the leash, eyes sparkling.
At school, the children gathered in a half-circle on the grass.
Shadow stepped out carefully, his legs shaky but his eyes alert. He looked around at the crowd of kids—and then right at Emma.
Like always.
Mrs. Sanderson knelt beside him. “He’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“He’s mine,” Emma said.
She read a short speech. Not nervous. Not shaky.
Just steady.
About how love doesn’t always come from where you expect it.
About how one dog found one girl and made her feel seen.
About how sometimes, what saves you has four legs and a silent heart.
When she finished, no one clapped.
They just stood quiet.
Then one of the boys who used to mock her came forward and gently petted Shadow’s head.
“Thanks for bringing him,” he said. “He looks brave.”
Emma nodded. “He is.”
That night, Shadow struggled to climb the stairs.
Emma didn’t ask him to try.
She laid her sleeping bag at the bottom step and slept beside him.
Her mother brought her pillow. Her father turned out the light but left the hallway lamp on.
As Emma closed her eyes, she felt it again—that quiet thump of Shadow’s paw against her arm.
Like always.
But something inside her knew.
It might not be like this much longer.