The call came in like any other—house fire, unknown occupants, possible pets inside. Standard protocol. But when we arrived, the scene was chaos. Smoke billowed from the windows, and neighbors stood outside, frantic.

I barely had time to register the details before we rushed in. Flames had already chewed through most of the living room, and visibility was near zero. That’s when I heard it—a whimper. Low, desperate. I followed the sound, maneuvering through debris until I spotted a dog cowering near an overturned coffee table.

“Hey, buddy,” I murmured, reaching for him. He was scared, shaking, but he didn’t run. As soon as my hands were on him, he clung to me like a lifeline, his paws pressing against my chest.