Waiting at the Wooden Door

Every sunset, the old golden retriever sits by that same wooden door, eyes fixed on the

empty road ahead. His owner left for war three years ago, promising to return

by autumn. Seasons changed, but the dog never moved from his post. Villagers bring

food, whispering he doesn't understand his human won't come back. But something deeper

keeps him there. Then one evening, footsteps echo down the path. The dog's ears perk

up. A familiar shadow appears through the golden light. Sometimes loyalty

sees what others cannot.