The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels and the blur of trees outside lulled James into a doze, his forehead pressed against the window, his grip tight on a large pink box containing a doll—a gift for his six-year-old daughter. He had just over an hour left of his journey; his business trip was nearly over, and he couldn’t wait to see his family.
His dreams were vivid—his home, his beloved Emily, his little sunshine, Lily. Even the scruffy mutt, Scruff, made an appearance—the very dog he’d always disliked. Small, seemingly useless, and cowardly. But Lily had begged to keep him after finding him as a stray puppy, and James, unable to resist her pleading eyes, had relented.
The train jolted to a sudden stop, jerking him awake. Across from him sat an unfamiliar woman.
“Good afternoon. Do we know each other?” he asked, confused.
“No, sorry. It’s just—you look rather sweet, a serious man with a doll’s box on his lap.”
“It’s for my daughter. I try to bring her something from every trip. Miss her terribly.”
“Your family’s lucky to have you…”
“It’s me who’s lucky to have them,” he replied with a smile.
He hurried through the outskirts of the village, past rows of terraced houses, toward his own detached home. The gate was open. He thought his wife and daughter must have come out to greet him. But Emily, pale and frantic, met him at the door.
“James! Lily’s gone!”
The words cut like a knife. His smile vanished. He dropped his bag by the fence, still clutching the doll.
Emily struggled to speak through her panic. She’d heard Lily playing with Scruff in the sandpit, then stepped into the kitchen. When she returned, there was silence. No sign of Lily. She’d searched the garden, the street, the house—nothing.
“Was the gate closed?”
“Lily could’ve opened it… but she knows she’s not supposed to…”
They tore through the neighbourhood, calling her name. After an hour, they knew it was serious. The police were called. A search party formed.
At the sandpit, only a small bucket and footprints remained. Scruff was missing too.
“Maybe he’s with her,” the police sergeant mused.
James refused to doubt—Lily was alive. He’d search the woods himself if he had to. He barely noticed the night chill in his thin shirt. “If Lily’s cold, I won’t warm up either,” he muttered to himself.
Armed with a torch and flanked by volunteers, he combed the woods. They paused now and then to shout her name. Silence. James remembered the day he’d picked Lily up from nursery and heard, “Daddy, can we keep this puppy?” as she pointed at a shivering little ball of fur.
Scruff had become her shadow. She’d curl up with him when she was poorly. He’d sulk when she was away. More than just a dog—almost a guardian angel.
Then—a flash in the dark. A pink sunhat with rabbit ears. Then a tiny sandal.
“That’s hers!” James choked out.
The volunteers said nothing, their expressions heavy with unspoken thoughts. But James refused despair. “She’s alive. I’ll find her.”
Hours later, shouts broke the silence. The search team had found a ditch. At the bottom—Lily. Pale, scratched, but breathing.
“Daddy… I’m thirsty,” she whispered as he pulled her into his arms.
“It’s all right, love. You’re safe.”
Only when they reached the top did she stir.
“Scruff’s down there… He couldn’t climb out…”
The dog was found. Wounded, one leg broken. He’d dragged himself toward the voices, leading them to Lily.
The next morning, the vet eyed Scruff.
“Put him down?”
“No. Treat him. He saved my daughter.”
Two weeks later, Lily was chasing butterflies in the garden again. Scruff, limping slightly, barked happily beside her. In every wag of his scruffy tail was more loyalty and love than words could ever hold.
He hadn’t just been useful. He’d been a hero. A proper one.
