The crisp autumn wind stirred the golden leaves as Burt, 91, made his way to church, his cane tapping the sidewalk. Life had been lonely since losing his wife, Martha, and their son decades ago. He no longer expected miracles—until he heard a faint whimper from a cardboard box near a lamppost. Inside was a trembling black and white puppy and a note: “Take care of him.”
Burt took the puppy home, naming him Sebastian—a name Martha had once loved. Though mischievous, Sebastian filled Burt’s lonely days with warmth and purpose.
