Max is a golden retriever with a heart full of memories, and he still tucks himself up at night the same way that his former owner, Mr. Thompson, did.
Max would tiptoe to his favorite spot in the living room each evening as the sun sank below the horizon, bathing the charming small house in a warm orange glow. He would wait there, staring at the clock between the shabby armchair and the roaring fireplace.
Max was expecting the tick-tock, but what he heard was the whisper of a well-known voice, Mr. Thompson, saying, “It’s time for bed, Max.”
But Mr. Thompson was not with Max anymore. Years had gone since his death, yet time could never replace the emptiness he left behind. But the love that existed between a man and a dog continued to linger in the memories of their times spent together.
Max would get up, his fluffy tail waving, waiting for that magical hour as the clock’s hands would slowly approach it. He would land on the faded quilt, which still carried a hint of Mr. Thompson’s aroma, with an elegant hop onto the bed.
Max would curl up, his head resting on the worn-out pillow with a practiced motion. Before his eyelids closed, his faithful heart let out a soft sigh. It was an expression of longing for a love that had no bounds to life or death.
As the night wore on, the moon moved across the sky and illuminated the space with its silvery radiance. Max could just feel his owner’s soft hand caressing his fur during those peaceful hours as if to say, “Sleep well, Max.”
Max used to wake up from his sleep with a look of thankfulness mixed with a trace of sadness in his eyes as the birds sang their morning songs. Padding his way back to his corner, he would wait until the next evening to repeat the ceremony that had tied him to Mr. Thompson.
So the evenings became weeks, and the weeks became years. The small abode continued to be a haven of recollections, watched over by the devoted friend who continued to sleep there at night, led by the unwavering affection he had for his owner.
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