There was the bag of premium dog food I had brought—open and half-used. Next to it was a loaf of white bread and a jar of peanut butter. That was it.
And then I saw the pill organizer.
My dad’s blood pressure medication slot was empty for the last three days. But Barnaby’s joint supplements? The expensive bottle I left on the counter?
“He had his medicine,” Dad mumbled, seeing where I was looking. “He walked good today. No limping.”
I fell to my knees. The realization hit me harder than the cold.
They had chosen.
When the money ran out three days ago, they had a choice: Electricity or food? Their medicine or the dog’s?
They chose Barnaby. Original work by Pawprints of My Heart
They chose him because he was mine. To them, protecting that dog was protecting me. They sat in the freezing dark, sharing a peanut butter sandwich, skipping their own life-saving medication, just to make sure my dog didn’t feel the ache in his joints.
They were willing to freeze to death so I wouldn’t come home to a limping dog.
