Every day at 5:30 p.m., like clockwork, Max would jump onto the arm of the couch and stare out the window.
Not just look — wait.
Ears up, tail wagging gently, eyes fixed on the street outside. He wasn’t waiting for the mailman. He wasn’t waiting for dinner. He was waiting for her.
Her name was Emily.
She was 10 when Max came into her life — a Christmas surprise with floppy ears and oversized paws. From day one, they were inseparable: games in the backyard, popcorn during movies, and sleepy snuggles under the covers.
Max followed her everywhere.
Bus stop? Max.
Dentist appointment? Max.
Even “time out”? Max sat outside her door.
And then she left for college.
Suitcases packed. Room suddenly too quiet. Max didn’t understand why she wasn’t coming back that night.
But every day, he still waited at the window.
Rain or shine. Monday to Sunday. 5:30 p.m.
Sometimes he’d whine softly.
Sometimes he’d perk up when a car slowed down.
But always — he waited.
One day, she did come home.
Holiday break.
Same driveway. Same time.
When Max saw her step out of the car, he didn’t bark.
He bolted.
Through the house, door wide open, tail spinning like a propeller. He leapt into her arms, crying — yes, actually crying — as if all that waiting had finally paid off.
And maybe it had.
Because even when he didn’t understand where she went or why she left, he never stopped believing she’d come back.
🐾 Some dogs don’t just love you.
They hold space for you — even when you’re gone.