The puppy was only about five months old.
Black and white.
Thin.
Small enough that his legs still looked a little too long for his body.
There were several scratches along his side and one near his front leg, but he was still alert when the motorcycle stopped beside the road.
The man riding it climbed off.
The puppy looked up at him immediately.
His tail moved.
He clearly knew this person.
He clearly trusted him.
Then the man lifted the puppy down and placed him on the ground.
For a second, nothing seemed unusual.
The puppy stood beside the motorcycle and waited.
Then the engine started again.
The man pulled away.
The puppy froze.
He watched the motorcycle move several feet down the road.
Then his ears went up.
He barked.
Once.
Then again.
The motorcycle kept going.
That was when the puppy started running.
He chased after it as fast as his small legs could carry him.
His paws hit the pavement unevenly.
He barked while running.
Not aggressively.
Desperately.
As if the man had simply forgotten him.
As if he believed that if he could just catch up, everything would go back to normal.
The motorcycle moved farther away.
The puppy ran harder.
His breathing became heavier.
One of his injured legs began to slow him down.
Still, he kept going.
Then his front paw caught awkwardly against the road.
He fell.
His body rolled once before stopping.
For several seconds, he did not move.
The motorcycle did not stop.
The puppy lifted his head.
He could still see it in the distance.
He pushed himself up.
One leg shook.
He tried to run again.
Two steps.
Three.
Then he stopped.
He simply did not have the strength.
The motorcycle disappeared around a bend.
The puppy stood in the road staring after it.
His tail was no longer moving.
He waited.
A car passed.
The puppy turned immediately.
Not the motorcycle.
Another vehicle appeared.
Again, he lifted his head.
Not him.
For the next several minutes, the puppy stayed near the same spot.
Sometimes he walked a few feet down the road.
Then returned.
Every engine made him look up.
Every time, he seemed to expect the same person to come back.
But no one did.
The afternoon faded.
Traffic became thinner.
The light changed.
Still, the puppy remained.
By evening, he had curled up close to the roadside.
His fur had become dusty.
The scratches along his body looked darker.
He rested his head on his front paws.
Then headlights appeared in the distance.
The puppy immediately stood.
He limped toward the edge of the road.
The car passed.
He watched it disappear.
Then slowly returned to the same place.
Hours had passed since the motorcycle left.
Yet he still had not gone anywhere.
To him, this was probably not abandonment.
Not yet.
He was still waiting for the person he trusted most to come back.
And every pair of headlights gave him the same small hope.
Maybe this one.
Maybe now.
Maybe he came back for me.
