By the end of the week, Dave couldn’t ignore it anymore. He’d stopped by the drain every day, bringing food and water, and Max had started to trust him a little—he’d let Dave pet his head, his tail giving a tiny wag when Dave’s hand brushed his fur—but he still wouldn’t leave the drain. Dave knew he had to do something more. He pulled out his phone and called the city’s public works department, his hands shaking a little as he dialed. A gruff voice answered, “Public Works, how can I help you?”
“I know this sounds crazy,” Dave said, “but there’s a dog on Willow Street—by the intersection with Oak—who won’t leave a storm drain. He’s been there for weeks. I think… I think there might be something in the drain that he’s waiting for. A ring, maybe. His owner lost it there, and he won’t leave until we get it out. Can someone come take a look? Please?”
There was a pause on the other end, and Dave could hear the sound of a pen tapping. “Storm drain issues are usually for clogs or flooding, sir,” the voice said. “We don’t send crews out for… well, for dogs.”
Dave’s jaw tightened. “Look, I get it. It sounds silly. But this dog hasn’t left that spot. He’s hungry, he’s lonely, and he’s not gonna move until we check that drain. What if it’s something important? What if it’s the only thing his owner has left of her mom? Can you just… send someone? Even if it’s just to take a quick look?”
Another pause, then a sigh. “Fine. I’ll send a crew out tomorrow morning. 9 a.m. Don’t expect them to stay long—if there’s nothing there, they’re gonna leave.”
“Thank you,” Dave said, relief flooding through him. “Thank you so much.”