I noticed the child near the station on what appeared to be a routine day. With Koda, our police dog, beside me, I observed the youngster—approximately 8 or 9 years old—dressed in shabby attire. Initially, he simply observed us, his fingers twitching nervously while his gaze shifted between myself and Koda.
“Would you like to greet him?” I inquired casually. After a moment’s pause, the boy approached cautiously. Koda, detecting no danger, showed friendliness with tail movements and raised his head. The child extended his hand, stroking the dog’s coat with extreme gentleness. Suddenly, he embraced Koda firmly around the neck and held on.
I anticipated a quick release. Instead, the boy continued holding Koda as his body began to tremble. His grip on Koda’s fur tightened. I realized he was sobbing.
I knelt down. “Is everything alright?” The boy sniffled against Koda’s fur before whispering words that affected me deeply: “He reminds me of my dad’s dog…before he departed.”
The crack in his voice and the word “departed” struck me hard. Koda remained perfectly still, allowing the child to maintain his embrace. I knew I needed additional information before letting him go.
“Would you like to discuss it?” I asked softly, sitting down on the concrete next to him. Though he wiped his nose with his hand, the boy kept one arm around Koda.
“Dad said we’d always have Max,” he quietly stated, mentioning the dog. “But then…Dad stopped returning home.”
Those last words felt heavy. My heart sank considering possible scenarios—separation, desertion, or something more serious?
“What should I call you, buddy?” I asked, attempting to shift toward less distressing topics.
“Eli,” he replied quietly, finally meeting my gaze. Despite his reddened eyes, they showed inquisitiveness, as if determining whether I deserved his trust.
“This is Koda, Eli,” I explained, touching the dog’s flank. “He listens well if you need someone—or some_paw_—for support.”
Eli produced a brief smile that quickly disappeared. “Max used to stay with me during frightening nights,” he shared. “After Dad left, Mom tried helping, but she works constantly…” His words faded away, but I didn’t push further.
I acknowledged his feelings: “Max clearly meant much to you.”
“Yes,” Eli whispered. “And so did Dad.”
His statement further saddened me. His tone lacked anger—only grief and profound loneliness no child should experience.
