“Come on, Buster, lets go home,” murmured Geoffrey Whitmore, gently stroking the scruffy terriers head. “We cant bring her back, no matter how much we both wish it.”
The little crossbreed lifted his gaze to his owners eyes, understanding perfectly. His beloved mistress was gone. No matter how long he lingered by the gravestone, she would never return to ruffle his ears or slip him forbidden biscuits under the table. With a heavy sigh, the dog trotted alongside Geoffrey toward the bus stop. There was no hurryneither of them had anywhere else to be.
Geoffrey and Margarethis Maggie, as he always called herhad shared forty-eight years together. A good life, a happy one. Only, theyd never been blessed with children.
“Just not meant to be, I suppose,” Margaret would say with a sad smile. “Maybe we werent fit to raise them. Not everyone gets that chance.”
Shed refused to adopt, though Geoffrey wouldnt have minded. But he never pressed her. If her heart wasnt in it, there was no point. At first, theyd held onto hope. Then one day, Margaret brought home a scrawny stray pup. Rusty, their first pet, became their child. When he passed from old age, they wept bitterly and swore never to get another. The grief was too much.
Two years later, Maggie carried in a tiny kitten.
“Cats live longer,” shed said, cradling the fluffy grey ball. “Whiskers might outlive us both.”
Twenty happy years Whiskers gave them. But cats, though longer-lived than dogs, dont outlast humans. Burying him broke them. Margaret fell ill soon afterperhaps the loss had weakened her already frail health. Geoffrey suggested another kitten, but she refused.
“Were old now. Our times nearly upwe cant leave another little one alone. No more pets, Geoffrey. Just us, till the end.”
And hed agreed, because he loved his Maggie more than anything.
Then, two years later, as they strolled through the park with ice creams in hand, a rustling behind the kiosk caught their attention. There, chewing a discarded wrapper, was a skeletal puppyso thin his head looked too big for his body. When he spotted them, he stopped, fixing them with a pleading, almost accusatory stare.
“Geoffrey,” Maggie whispered fiercely, gripping his arm. “Promise me youll live at least ten more years!”
Hed blinked, startled, but the intensity in her gaze left no room for hesitation.
“I promise.”
Smiling, she scooped up the scruffy little thing and held him close. That was how Buster came into their lives.
Now, Geoffrey sighed, glancing down at the dog. Buster lifted his head, meeting his eyes as if to say, *Yes, thats exactly how it happened.*
They had five more joyful years together before Margaret passed three months ago.
A quiet groan escaped Geoffrey, and Buster whimpered in response.
“Were orphans now, Buster,” he murmured.
The dog answered with a mournful howl.
They visited the grave oftenit was all they could do.
At the bus stop, Geoffrey sank onto the bench. A dull ache settled in his chest. *Just need to get home, have a cup of tea. Thatll help.* He rubbed his breastbone absently. Buster, instead of sitting beside him, paced anxiously, nudging his masters hand and whining.
“Its alright, boy. Heres the bus. Lets go.”
The ride took forty minutes. The pain grew worse. Buster pressed his muzzle into Geoffreys knees, trembling.
“Nearly there,” Geoffrey muttered, breath shallow.
Thensharp agony. Darkness.
Busters frantic barking pierced the haze. Passengers turned.
“Someone help! This mans collapsed!”
The bus screeched to a halt. Strangers crowded around, calling for an ambulance. Buster fell silent, watching with pleading eyes: *Help him. Please.*
They loaded Geoffrey into the ambulance. Buster knew better than to followhed seen this before. But the bus would take him home.
“Dont send the dog away,” someone urged. “He knows the route. Ive seen them before.”
So they let him stay.
When the bus looped back to the cemetery, Buster stepped off. He stood motionless, nose pointed toward the hospital where his master fought for life. His eyes seemed to look inward, into something beyond human understanding.
People have lost their bond with nature, dismissing what they cant see or measure. But if pets could speak, theyd tell us much about the unseen threads that bind souls.
***
Geoffrey walked a long, dark corridor. Ahead, on sunlit grass, stood Margaretyoung again. He reached for her eagerly, but she glared.
“I wont have a liar! You promised me ten years! Its only been five! Would you abandon Buster? Go back!”
His hand dropped. He couldnt disobey her. Turning, he trudged back into the dark.
“Pulse is back,” the doctor exhaled.
***
A month later, Geoffrey was discharged. He felt wellbut where was Buster?
Unbeknownst to him, Buster had become something of a local legend. After helping his mistress pull Geoffrey from deaths grip, he knew his master would come for himwhere else but the bus where theyd last been together? So he rode the Number 8 to the cemetery daily. Word spread. Drivers and passengers fed him. No one turned him away.
Dogs know how to wait.
***
Geoffrey stepped into the silent flat. Dead flowers. A stale bin smell. His foot struck an empty bowl, sending it clattering.
“Buster! Where are you?”
In a distant bus, a dog barked wildly.
*Here! Im here!*
The next day, after plastering “Lost Dog” posters across town, Geoffrey waited by the phone. No calls came. Defeated, he buried his face in the pillow. *Why did I survive? For what?*
But who reads posters these days? The local forum buzzed about the dog haunting the Number 8. Geoffrey, with no internet, knew none of this.
He rode the bus to the cemetery the next day, needing to tell Margaret about Buster.
Overheard chatter caught his attention:
“always carry treats now, just in case. Poor things been riding for weeks!”
“Tried taking him home once. Wouldnt come.”
“Why would he? Hes waiting for his owner.”
“Must be dead by now. Otherwise, hed have found the dog.”
Geoffreys breath hitched. “Excuse mewhat dog?”
The women gaped. “You must be new here! A man collapsed on this bus last month. His dogs been riding ever since, waiting. Owners surely”
“Not dead,” Geoffrey whispered. “Im his owner.”
At that moment, a passing Number 8 braked. Inside, pressed against the glass, was Buster.
“There! Thats the dog!”
Chaos erupted. Passengers spilled out, traffic halted. And there, in the middle of the road, Geoffrey knelt, arms around Busters neck.
By weeks end, the whole town buzzed: *The dog waited. The dog found his master.*
For a fleeting moment, strangers shared something rarea collective joy, a warmth long forgotten in a world where everyone fends for themselves.
