Every morning at 11 a.m, a car would stop outside my house. My four French bulldogs would go feral, barking at it. Then, just as silently, the car would drive away. Suspicious, right? I imagined burglars, spies, dog thieves…
So, one morning, I marched up to the car, ready for a confrontation. Inside, an elderly couple sat quietly. On the woman’s lap rested a corgi.
The woman smiled. “Oh, hello! I hope we’re not bothering you! Our dog—Winston—is sick. He can’t walk anymore. We bring him here to watch yours. It makes him happy.”
Oh. My heart twisted. This wasn’t a mystery—it was heartbreakingly sweet.
“Well, that’s ridiculous,” I said. The woman blinked. “He shouldn’t just watch! Bring him on the lawn. Let him play!”
The next day, Winston joined the chaos. My Frenchies barked, snorted, and sniffed him wildly. Winston, despite his weakness, barked back.
And just like that, my mornings weren’t suspicious anymore. They became something better—new friendship and joy.