When I was nine, my parents surprised me with a golden retriever puppy for my birthday. I named him Max. Max and I were inseparable from the moment he stumbled into my arms, a bundle of golden fur and boundless energy. He was my confidant, my playmate, and my loyal shadow.

One summer afternoon, we went to the park near our house. It was a typical day, with children laughing, couples strolling, and dogs chasing frisbees. Max was off-leash, darting after a butterfly with the enthusiasm only a young dog can muster. I watched him, smiling, until I was distracted by a friend from school.

When I turned back, Max was gone.

Panic surged through me. I called his name, my voice cracking with fear. The park, once a place of joy, now seemed vast and unfriendly. I ran...