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My lost dog
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 through the grassy fields, calling out, "Max! Max!" but there was no sign of him.
My parents arrived soon after I called them, their faces pale with worry. We searched the park together, combing every inch, asking everyone we passed if they had seen a golden retriever. No one had. As the sun set, casting long shadows, we had to go home without him.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, imagining Max scared and alone somewhere. The house felt empty without the sound of his paws padding down the hallway. My parents reassured me we would find him, but their voices couldn't drown out the fear gnawing at my heart.
The next morning, we printed flyers with Max's picture and posted them all over town. I handed them out at school, and my friends spread the word. Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no sign of Max. Each day without him felt like an eternity.
Then, one rainy afternoon, a month after he disappeared, the phone rang. My mother answered, her expression shifting from caution to excitement. "Someone found Max!" she exclaimed, tears of relief in her eyes. We rushed to the address given to us, my heart pounding with anticipation.
We arrived at a small house on the edge of town. A woman met us at the door, holding Max in her arms. He looked thinner, and his fur was matted, but when he saw me, his tail wagged furiously, and he squirmed to get free.
I ran to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, burying my face in his fur. Max licked my cheek, his eyes bright with recognition and joy. The woman explained she had found him wandering near a highway, dirty and scared. She took him in, fed him, and saw our flyer at the grocery store.
We thanked her profusely, offering a reward she graciously refused. On the way home, Max sat beside me in the car, leaning against my side, as if to assure himself I was really there.
That night, Max slept at the foot of my bed, his presence a comforting weight. I knew he was safe, and I vowed never to let him out of my sight again. Max and I had many more adventures, but the memory of those long weeks without him always reminded me of how precious he was to me.
From that day on, every time we went to the park, Max stayed close, his golden fur brushing against my leg as if to say, "I'm here. I'm home."
© Nidhi30
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 through the grassy fields, calling out, "Max! Max!" but there was no sign of him.
My parents arrived soon after I called them, their faces pale with worry. We searched the park together, combing every inch, asking everyone we passed if they had seen a golden retriever. No one had. As the sun set, casting long shadows, we had to go home without him.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, imagining Max scared and alone somewhere. The house felt empty without the sound of his paws padding down the hallway. My parents reassured me we would find him, but their voices couldn't drown out the fear gnawing at my heart.
The next morning, we printed flyers with Max's picture and posted them all over town. I handed them out at school, and my friends spread the word. Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no sign of Max. Each day without him felt like an eternity.
Then, one rainy afternoon, a month after he disappeared, the phone rang. My mother answered, her expression shifting from caution to excitement. "Someone found Max!" she exclaimed, tears of relief in her eyes. We rushed to the address given to us, my heart pounding with anticipation.
We arrived at a small house on the edge of town. A woman met us at the door, holding Max in her arms. He looked thinner, and his fur was matted, but when he saw me, his tail wagged furiously, and he squirmed to get free.
I ran to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, burying my face in his fur. Max licked my cheek, his eyes bright with recognition and joy. The woman explained she had found him wandering near a highway, dirty and scared. She took him in, fed him, and saw our flyer at the grocery store.
We thanked her profusely, offering a reward she graciously refused. On the way home, Max sat beside me in the car, leaning against my side, as if to assure himself I was really there.
That night, Max slept at the foot of my bed, his presence a comforting weight. I knew he was safe, and I vowed never to let him out of my sight again. Max and I had many more adventures, but the memory of those long weeks without him always reminded me of how precious he was to me.
From that day on, every time we went to the park, Max stayed close, his golden fur brushing against my leg as if to say, "I'm here. I'm home."
© Nidhi30
