“Let’s go home, Buddy. Let’s go,” said John Patterson, gently stroking the dog’s head. “We can’t bring her back, no matter how much we wish we could.”
Buddy, the scrappy mutt, looked up at him, his deep eyes searching John’s face. He understood—his beloved Emily was gone. No matter how long he sat by her gravestone, she wouldn’t return to scratch behind his ears or sneak him a cookie under the table. She always said no, but she’d always given in.
With a sigh, Buddy rose and walked beside John toward the bus stop. It was a long journey, but neither of them was in a hurry. Man and dog moved slowly, both lost in the memory of the woman they loved most in the world.
John and Emily Patterson had spent forty-eight years together. It had been a good life—filled with love, though children never came.
“Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be,” Emily used to say. “Maybe we weren’t meant to raise kids.”
Because of that belief, she never wanted to adopt. John had been open to it, but he couldn’t change her mind once it was set. For a time, there was hope. Then, one day, Emily brought home a stray puppy. They named him Max. He was more than a pet—he was their child.
When Max passed from old age, their grief was unbearable. They vowed never to go through that pain again. But two years later, Emily came home with a kitten in her coat.
“Cats live longer,” she said with a smile. “Maybe Smokey will even outlive us.”
They spent twenty happy years with Smokey. But not even cats live forever.
After burying Smokey, Emily’s health quickly declined. John believed the grief had broken something inside her. When he suggested they adopt another animal, she gently refused.
“We’re getting old, John. Why bring another pet into this world just to leave it behind? Let’s spend whatever time we have left… just the two of us.”
He agreed—because he loved her.
Two years passed.
One summer afternoon, they were strolling in the park and stopped at an ice cream stand. John handed Emily her favorite—vanilla—and they turned to head toward the fountain when they heard a rustling sound behind the kiosk.
Behind it, a tiny, starving puppy was gnawing on an empty ice cream wrapper. He was so thin that his head looked too big for his body. When he saw them, he dropped the wrapper and gave them a wary, almost accusing look.
Emily gripped John’s arm tightly.
“Promise me something,” she said, her voice low and urgent. “Promise you’ll live at least ten more years.”
John was startled, but something about her expression made him nod without hesitation.
“I promise.”
She smiled and scooped the filthy pup into her arms. That’s how Buddy came into their lives.
John sighed deeply and looked at Buddy again. The dog gazed back with eyes full of understanding, as if to say, “Yes, that’s exactly how it happened.”
They had five joyful years together, filled with Buddy’s energy and unconditional love. But three months ago, Emily was gone—just like that.
John groaned softly, and Buddy let out a mournful whine in response.
“We’re orphans now, Buddy,” John whispered.
“Awooo—oooooo!” Buddy howled back.
They visited Emily’s grave often. It was the only thing they could do.
The bus finally arrived at the terminal near the cemetery. John sat on the bench, a dull ache building in his chest—not sharp, just uncomfortable.
“Some sweet tea will help,” he thought, rubbing the left side of his chest absently. Buddy paced nearby, sniffing at his face and whining in distress.
“It’s alright, Buddy. The bus is here. Let’s go.”
They boarded. The ride would take forty minutes. The pain worsened. Buddy curled into his lap, refusing to sit still.
“Hold on, Buddy… we’re almost there…”
Then the pain spiked. Breathing became hard. His vision dimmed. And John slumped over.
Buddy barked—loud, frantic, desperate. The other passengers turned.
“This man needs help!”
The bus pulled over. People rushed to help. The ambulance arrived quickly. Buddy stayed by John’s side until they lifted him into the vehicle. He knew he wasn’t allowed to ride along. But he had to follow. So when the ambulance sped off, Buddy ran back onto the bus, trusting it would take him the same way.
The passengers told the driver to let him stay.
“He knows this route. Let him be.”
When the bus completed its loop and returned to the terminal, Buddy jumped off. He stood at the stop, staring in the direction the ambulance had gone—toward the hospital. His eyes didn’t just see the road. They saw something deeper.
Even as the doctors fought for John’s life, Buddy knew it wasn’t enough. They needed help. So Buddy did the only thing he could. He ran—not home, but to the one who could still help, even from beneath the earth.
John Patterson walked through a long, dark tunnel. At the far end, beneath a sunlit sky, Emily stood smiling, radiant and young, among flowers.
John reached for her. But as he stepped forward, she frowned.
“I don’t want a liar,” she said. “You promised me ten more years. Only five have passed. What about Buddy? Would you leave him alone? Go back.”
John lowered his hand, ashamed. He turned and walked back into the darkness.
“We’ve got a pulse!” a doctor exclaimed.
A month passed. It was the day of John’s discharge. His body had healed, but his heart remained heavy. He hadn’t heard anything about Buddy. No sign. No clue. He feared the worst.
But Buddy… Buddy had become a legend.
He knew John would come back. So he waited at the only place he could: the Number 8 bus. Day after day, Buddy rode the route to the cemetery and back, quietly watching for his master.
The townsfolk noticed. Someone fed him treats. Drivers made space for him. No one dared to stop a dog with a mission.
When John finally returned to his apartment, it felt empty. Plants wilted. The trash smelled. An overturned dog bowl clattered underfoot.
“Buddy? Buddy, where are you?!” John called out.
At that exact moment, a bark echoed inside one of the Number 8 buses.
“I’m here, I’m here, I’m coming!”
The next day, John plastered the town with missing dog flyers. He waited by the phone, praying for a call. None came.
“Why did I survive?” he thought bitterly. “For what?”
But John didn’t use the internet. Emily had never wanted a computer, and neither had he. He didn’t know the town forum was ablaze with posts about a loyal dog who rode the bus every day, waiting for someone who never came.
The following morning, John boarded the Number 8, heading to the cemetery to tell Emily everything.
Behind him, two older women chatted.
“I always carry treats for him, poor thing.”
“I wanted to take him in, but he won’t come. He’s waiting for someone.”
“He must think his owner’s dead. Probably is. Poor dog doesn’t know everyone online’s talking about him.”
John’s heart stopped.
Could it be?
His eyes searched every stop on the route.
And then—there he was. Sitting at the back of the bus. Tail thumping. Eyes wide.
“Buddy!”
The bark that followed shook the whole bus.
“Master!”