Marco Betrayal The Guardian of Queens

Time is the one enemy no warrior can defeat.

By Bruno’s eleventh birthday, his gait had slowed down. His once explosive, muscle-bound frame had settled into a gentle, heavy stature, and his face was framed in distinguished silver fur.

Dr. Vance, who had remained our personal family physician, visited the lake estate regularly to check on Bruno's health.

"His heart is strong, Gabriel," Dr. Vance told me as we sat on the porch one warm autumn afternoon. "Stronger than most dogs half his age. But his joints are aging. He’s lived a life that would have worn out ten ordinary dogs."

"Is he in pain?" I asked, my heart tightening with deep protectiveness.

"No," Vance reassured me with a warm smile. "He’s comfortable, happy, and surrounded by the people he loves most. He’s living the peaceful retirement he earned ten times over."

I bought custom orthopedic beds for every room in the house and laid down soft thick rugs across all the hardwood floors so Bruno could walk without slipping.

Whenever I walked down to the town or visited our corporate offices in Queens, Bruno no longer ran ahead; he walked right by my hip, his shoulder resting gently against my leg, moving at my pace.

Every child in the neighborhood knew Bruno by name. When we walked through the town park, children would run over with dog treats, gently petting his silver muzzle. Bruno would wag his heavy tail slowly, licking their hands with endless affection.

The terrifying beast that had intimidated mob bosses and torn down hitmen had become the most beloved soul in the entire valley.

One evening, as we sat by the crackling stone fireplace in the living room, little Elena laid her head on Bruno’s side as he slept on his cushion.

"Mr. Gabriel?" Elena asked quietly, looking up at me.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Do dogs go to heaven?"

I looked at the silver-muzzled hound sleeping peacefully by the fire, his tail thumping once in his sleep as if dreaming of running through open fields.