“Come on, Buster, lets go home,” said Edward Whitmore, gently stroking the dogs head. “We cant bring her back, no matter how much we both wish we could.”
The unassuming mutt named Buster lifted his head and gazed into his owners eyes. He understoodhis beloved mistress was gone. No matter how long he stood by the grave, she would never return to ruffle his ears or slip him a biscuit under the table, the one he adored despite Edwards strict disapproval. With a heavy sigh, the dog followed his master toward the bus stop. The walk was long, but neither was in a hurry. They moved slowly, each lost in memories of the one they loved most.
***
Edward Whitmore had spent forty-eight years with his Lizziehis affectionate name for his wife. They had lived well, content in their simple happiness. But God had never blessed them with children.
“Must not be meant to be,” Lizzie would say. “Maybe we werent deemed worthy to raise a child.”
That was why she had refused adoption, though Edward wouldnt have minded. But he never pressed herwhat was the point if her heart wasnt in it? At first, they still hoped. Then one day, Lizzie brought home a scruffy stray pup. Rufus, their first pet, became their child. When old age took Rufus, they wept bitterly and swore never to have another doglosing one was too painful. But two years later, Lizzie carried home a tiny kitten.
“Cats live a long time,” she smiled. “Fluffy might even outlive us.”
Fluffy gave them twenty happy years, but though cats outlast dogs, they still dont outlive people. Burying their “child” again broke Lizzies spirit. She fell ill soon afterperhaps grief weakened her already frail health. Edward suggested another kitten, but Lizzie refused.
“Were old now. Soon itll be our timewhy leave another creature orphaned? No, Edward, no more pets. Just the two of us till the end.”
And he agreed, because he loved his Lizzie more than anything.
Two more years passed.
One afternoon, strolling through the park, they stopped at an ice cream stand. Edward handed Lizzie her favourite vanilla cone, and they turned toward the fountain when a rustling sound caught their attention. Behind the stand, a scrawny puppy gnawed at a discarded wrapper. He was so thin his head seemed too large for his bony frame. Spotting them, the pup dropped the wrapper and fixed Edward and Lizzie with a pleading, reproachful stare.
“Edward, promise me,” Lizzie whispered urgently, clutching his hand, “promise youll live at least ten more years!”
He was stunned, but the intensity in her eyes made him answer without hesitation.
“I promise.”
She smiled, scooped up the scruffy little creature, and cradled him to her chest. That was how Buster came into their lives.
Edward sighed and looked down at Buster. The dog lifted his head, locking eyes as if reading his thoughtsas if saying, *Yes, thats exactly how it happened.*
They had five more happy years together, filled with the warm, furry joy called Buster. Then, three months ago, Lizzie was gone.
A quiet groan escaped Edwards lips, and Buster let out a mournful howl.
“Were alone now, Buster,” Edward murmured.
*”Awooo!”* the dog echoed.
They visited Lizzies grave often because they couldnt bear to stay away.
Now, at the bus stop, Edward sat on the bench. A dull ache spread through his chestnot sharp, but persistent. *Just get home, have some sweet tea, and itll pass,* he thought, rubbing his chest absently. Buster didnt sit beside him as usual. Instead, he paced anxiously, nosing Edwards face and whining.
“Its fine, Buster, fine. Heres the buslets go.”
They boarded, the ride would take forty minutes, but the pain grew worse. Buster pressed his head harder into Edwards knees.
“Nearly halfway now, boy”
Then, suddenly, the pain spiked. Darkness swallowed his vision. Edward slumped unconscious.
Buster barked frantically. Passengers turned.
“That mans collapsed!”
The bus stopped. People crowded around Edward, waiting for the ambulance. Buster fell silent, watching with pleading eyes. *Help him.*
When the paramedics loaded Edward into the ambulance, Buster knew they wouldnt let him follow. Hed seen that before. The vehicle sped off in the same direction as the bus, so Buster hurried back inside, thinking it would follow his master.
Passengers patted his head. “Dont make the dog leave,” one said to the conductor. “He must know his way home. Ive seen them on this route often.”
So they let him stay.
When the bus looped back to the cemetery stop, Buster stepped off. He stood motionless, nose turned toward the hospital where doctors fought for Edwards life. His eyes seemed to stare inward, into something no human could understand.
Buster fought his own battlepouring every ounce of love into that distant struggle. He sensed the doctors werent enough. When his strength waned, he ran to the one who could still help, even beneath the stone.
Modern life has severed humanitys bond with nature. People dismiss energy, unseen connections, the unmeasurable. But absence of proof isnt proof of absence. If pets could speak, theyd tell us things beyond our understanding.
***
Edward walked down a long, dark corridor. Ahead, on sunlit grass sprinkled with flowers, stood Lizzieyoung again. He hurried toward her, arm outstretched, ready to step into the light
Then froze.
Lizsie glared.
“I dont want a liar! You promised me ten years! Its only been five! Would you abandon Buster? Go back!”
Edwards hand fell. He could never disobey her. Turning, he trudged back into the dark.
“Hes got a pulse,” a doctor exhaled.
***
A month later, Edward was discharged. He felt wellexcept for one gnawing fear: *Wheres Buster? Is he alive? How do I find him?*
Unbeknownst to Edward, Buster had become famous in their small town. After he and Lizzie wrestled Edward from deaths grasp, Buster knew he only had to wait. His master *would* come back. And hed come to the last place theyd been togetherthe bus. So Buster spent his days riding Bus Route 8 to the cemetery. Word spread fast. No one shooed him away; drivers and passengers always had treats.
Dogs know how to wait. And Buster waited.
***
Edward stepped into the silent flat. Wilted flowers, stale air, an overturned dog bowl clattering at his feet.
“Buster, where *are* you?” he cried.
At that moment, a loud bark echoed through Bus 8.
*”Here! Im here, master!”* Buster yelped.
The next day, Edward posted “Lost Dog” flyers and waited by the phone. Nothing. Defeated, he lay in bed, pulling the blanket over his head. *Why did I survive? For whom?*
Ah, Edward, Edwardwho reads lamppost notices in the internet age? The towns online forums were ablaze with the story of the dog riding the bus. But Edward had no computer, no internet. He and Lizzie had never needed it.
The following day, he rode to the cemetery to tell Lizzie about Buster. It pained him to admit the loss, but he had to. For himself, if nothing elsebecause he and Lizzie had never kept secrets.
Slumped in his seat, Edward overheard two elderly women:
“always carry dog treats now, just in case. Poor thing.”
“Tried taking him home once. He wouldnt budge.”
“Course not. Hes waiting for his master.”
“After all this time? Masters probably dead. My grandkids say the whole internets talking about this dog.”
“Even if he is, the dog doesnt know. Hes waiting. Ever see *Hachi*?”
“Excuse me,” Edward interrupted, heart pounding, “what dog are you talking about?”
“You new here? This dogs been riding Bus 8 since his master collapsed a month ago. Poor bloke mustve died”
“He didnt,” Edward whispered, tears falling. “Im his master. Just out of hospital.”
Just then, another bus pulled up opposite. Pressed against the windowBuster.
“Thats him!” a woman shouted. “Hes on that bus! Stop, everyonethe dogs owner is here!”
The crowd erupted. The driver halted. The conductor phoned ahead:
“Dont move! The dogs master is *here*!”
Passengers spilled off both buses, blocking traffic. Horns blared, then fell silent as drivers stepped out to watch.
And there, in the middle of the road, Edward sat on the
