It was 3 AM when I found her—a Golden Retriever chained to the old Cedar Creek Bridge, barely breathing, tumor the size of a softball on her belly. Someone had left water and her favorite toy, a worn stuffed duck, but it was the notes that stopped me cold.
The first note explained her plight: her owner couldn’t afford surgery or euthanasia. But the second note—written in crayon, from a seven-year-old girl named Madison—changed everything:
“Please save Daisy. She’s all I have left. Daddy says she has to die, but I know angels ride motorcycles. I prayed you’d find her. Here’s $7.43, all my tooth fairy money. Please don’t let her die alone. Love, Madison.”
I sat on the cold concrete, Daisy’s head in my lap, and cried. A little girl’s hope, $7.43, and faith in motorcycle angels—it was enough for me.
I called my vet, Dr. Amy. “We’re trying,” I told her. Surgery would cost thousands. Daisy was weak. But Madison’s hope outweighed the risks. Four hours later, Daisy was out of surgery. The tumor was gone. She had months—maybe a year—more to live.
I had to find Madison. Her father, Tom, answered the door. When I told her Daisy had survived, Madison screamed with joy: “I knew angels rode motorcycles!”
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