š±š Every day, the dog sat staring at the same storm drain. It looked as though he was guarding somethingā¦ but when the secret was revealed, no one could believe their eyes.
I had just moved into the neighborhood and noticed everything with curiosity. Yet one thing unsettled me: a golden retriever who would spend hours by the manhole. Sometimes he whined, sometimes barked, but always kept his eyes fixed on the darkness below.
One afternoon, I was walking home from the butcher with a bag of steaks. The dog was there again ā motionless, tense, completely focused. I pulled out a bone and handed it to him. Instead of devouring it, he quietly carried it back to the grate.
Then came the shock: he pushed the bone carefully through the barsā¦ as if feeding something hidden inside.
My heart pounded. Who was he giving it to?
I leaned closer. At first, I thought maybe a puppy had fallen down there and the retriever was trying to help. But the moment my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I froze. My breath caught, my legs nearly gave way. What I saw was unforgettable.
A pale face. A pair of trembling hands. A child.
My throat tightened, and at first only broken sounds escaped me. Then I screamed with everything I had, calling for help.
Within minutes, neighbors rushed from shops and houses, gathering around in alarm. When the grate was finally pried open and a flashlight shone into the depths, the truth was revealed.
There, pressed against the damp wall, sat a young boy ā weak, exhausted, but alive.
And all that time, the dog had been watching over him, refusing to leave his side.
