The Dog Who Waited at My Door Every Morning

He just watched me.

Not aggressively.

Not fearfully.

But with a kind of quiet patience that didn’t belong to a dog surviving on the streets.

It belonged to a dog waiting for something familiar to come back.

“Hey, buddy…” I murmured.

He didn’t respond.

Just kept staring past me into the house, like I was temporarily blocking the view of something more important.

Then, slowly, he lowered his head again.

And stayed.