The boy struggled as the dog pulled against her leash. His dad had said once around the block, not across the street.
“Please,” the boy whispered, trying to convey confidence as he rounded the corner, hoping the dog would give up and follow. Instead, she yipped and jumped, strong enough to pull the boy a few steps sideways.
“Want a treat?” a gentle voice asked. The boy looked, but the old man wasn’t talking to him. He held out his hand, a tiny brown treat in his palm. The boy could barely see it—how would the dog?
But she did, and came bounding up and settled at the old man’s feet to chew it to bits while he scratched behind her ears.
“For you, too,” the old man said.
The boy shook his head automatically. “My dad said don’t take things from strangers.”
The old man smiled. “I’m Charles, so I’m not a stranger anymore. And these are more dog treats, so if she tries to steer you wrong, you can keep her on track.”
The boy thought about it. Would his dad be madder if he chased the dog across the street or took something from a stranger? He wasn’t sure, but he knew one thing: he loved this taste of freedom. Being away from home, with his dog. When it was okay to be alone, when no one thought he was strange for not being surrounded by other boys his age.
He took the treats and pocketed them. “Thank you, Charles.”
The old man nodded once, and the dog stepped closer to the boy, acting like his shadow as they continued down the block.
At the next corner, the boy glanced back. Charles was offering a treat to another dog walking by.
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