Dave’s eyes widened. “She lost it here?”
Mrs. Henderson nodded. “Searched for hours. I helped her—we got flashlights, knelt down by the grate, even called the city to see if they could open it, but they said it was a ‘non-emergency’ and they couldn’t come out right away. Clara cried so hard, Dave. She said it wasn’t just a ring—it was like losing a piece of her mom all over again. Max was with her the whole time, sniffing around the drain, digging at the dirt with his paws. Clara said he wouldn’t leave, even when she tried to pull him away. She had to carry him home that night.”
She paused, looking over at the drain where Max still sat. “When Clara moved, she tried to take Max with her—went to the shelter, got all his papers, packed his bed and his food bowl. But when she came back to get him, he was gone. She searched the neighborhood for days, put up posters, asked everyone she knew, but no one saw him. I guess… I guess he came back here. To the drain. To the last place he saw that ring. To the last place he saw Clara looking so sad.”
Dave’s heart sank. He thought about Max—abandoned, not by choice, but because he couldn’t leave the one spot that held a connection to his owner. He thought about Clara, driving away, wondering where her dog had gone, mourning both her mom and the loss of her ring. That night, Dave cooked chicken for dinner, but he set aside a big piece, cutting it into small, bite-sized pieces. He walked over to the drain, the chicken in a paper plate, and set it down next to the water cup.
Max was still there, sitting in the dark, his eyes glowing faintly in the light from the streetlamp. He looked up when Dave approached, his ears perking up slightly, but he didn’t move. Dave knelt down, his voice soft. “C’mon, Max. You gotta eat. Clara would want you to eat.” He pushed the plate closer, and after a minute, Max leaned forward and sniffed. He took a piece of chicken in his mouth, chewing slowly, then another. But as soon as he was done, he turned right back to the drain, his ears perked like he was listening for something only he could hear—maybe the echo of Clara’s voice, calling his name, or the faint clink of the ring against the metal pipes inside.
Dave sat there for a while, watching him, before he stood up and walked home. Charlie was waiting by the door, but Dave barely noticed. His mind was on Max, and on the ring, and on the quiet, stubborn love that kept a dog rooted to a single spot.