Buddy By My Side

Maya had a dog named Buddy. Buddy was shaggy and brown, with one white paw like a mitten. His ears were soft, and his nose was warm and wet. When Maya laughed, Buddy’s tail went thump-thump-thump on the floor.

“Ready, Buddy?” Maya asked one sunny morning.

“Woof!” said Buddy.

They went to Willow Park with Grandpa Ben. Grandpa held Buddy’s long blue leash. Maya bounced a red rubber ball.

At the park there were bright banners, a puppet stage, and geese that went honk-honk. Children ran with kites that dipped and swirled. A juggler tossed shiny rings. The air smelled like popcorn and grass.

Maya tossed the ball. “Fetch!”

Buddy ran, paws pat-pat-pat, and brought it right back. He set it gently in Maya’s hand every time. He never kept it, not even once.

“You are a good dog,” Maya said.

“Woof,” said Buddy, and he wagged so hard his whole back wiggled.

A gust of wind puffed through the park. A red kite swooped low. Paper ribbons fluttered like dancing snakes. People moved closer to see the juggler. The path got busy and bright and noisy.

“Let’s get lemonade,” said Grandpa. “Stay by me.”

Maya held the blue leash. Buddy walked beside her, close as a shadow. But the crowd swirled, and a tall man with a giant balloon stepped between them. When the balloon bobbed away, Grandpa was gone from sight.

Maya looked left. She looked right. She saw the juggler’s rings. She saw the geese. She saw a bench with a red scarf flapping on it. But she did not see Grandpa.

Her tummy felt small and wobbly.

“Buddy,” Maya whispered. “Stay with me.”

Buddy leaned against her leg. His ear brushed her hand. Thump-thump went his tail.

Maya took a breath. She knew a game. At home Grandpa hid in silly places and said, “Find me!” Buddy always found him.

“Buddy,” Maya said, “Find Grandpa.”

Buddy lifted his nose. Sniff, sniff. He sniffed the blue leash. He sniffed the air. He sniffed the ground where Grandpa’s shoes had been. Grandpa always smelled like peppermint candy and soap.

Buddy stepped forward. He did not pull. He looked back to check on Maya. His eyes said, “Come on. I am here.”

They passed the puppet stage. A bubble machine puffed a cloud of shiny bubbles. Pop! Pop! Pop!

A tiny toddler reached out a hand. “Doggie!”

Buddy stopped so the little hand could pat his soft side. He wagged a little hello. Then he looked at Maya again. He was ready.

“Good boy,” Maya said. “Let’s go.”

They walked by the pond. The geese were very busy, honk-honking and nibbling grass. Buddy did not tug. He did not bark. He stayed right by Maya’s knee.

Sniff, sniff. Step, step. Look back. Wag.

They reached the bench with the red scarf. The scarf flapped like a flag. Buddy’s ears perked up. He gave one clear bark.

“Woof!”

“Maya! Buddy!” Grandpa’s voice came from behind the bench. He had been right there, buying lemonade from the little cart.

Grandpa knelt down. “There you are!” He hugged Maya. He scratched Buddy’s chin. “You stayed together. Clever nose, Buddy!”

Maya’s tummy felt big and brave again. “We played Find Grandpa,” she said. “Buddy knew.”

Grandpa smiled. “Let’s sit a minute.” He handed Maya a cold cup. He put a small bowl of water on the ground for Buddy.

They sat in the shade of a leafy tree. Maya sipped lemonade. Buddy slurped his water. A yellow butterfly landed on Buddy’s ear. He blinked, surprised, and Maya giggled.

“Wherever we go,” Maya told him, “you are my Buddy.”

Buddy put his head on her knee. Thump-thump went his tail.

Later, at home, Maya rolled the red ball across the rug. Buddy trotted after it and brought it back. He pressed it into Maya’s hand like a small, round promise.

“Woof,” said Buddy softly.

Maya smiled. “I know,” she said. “We’re together.”

And Buddy stayed right by her side.