Chapter 6 - A Lifetime of DevotionYears flew by, and Ethan grew up under the constant vigil of his four-legged older brother. When Ethan learned to crawl, Rex would army-crawl right behind him. When Ethan took his first clumsy steps, Rex stood close enough to act as a furry cushion whenever the boy tumbled.
One evening, when Ethan was eight years old, he stood staring at an old, framed family photograph hanging in the living room. The picture captured a younger, proud Rex sitting like a majestic lion right next to Ethan’s infant crib.
"Dad," Ethan asked, looking up at me. "Why do we always say Rex is a hero?"
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I smiled, pulling my son onto the sofa beside me. Some stories are meant to be retold, passed down like sacred family lore. I told him about the stormy night years ago, the torn baby clothes, the hidden nest in the wall, and the single greatest mistake his father had ever made.
When I finished the story, Ethan quietly got up. He walked over to the hearth where Rex was sleeping by the fire. By this time, Rex had grown very old. His once vibrant golden muzzle was completely frosted with white hair, his eyes cloudy with age. His joints were stiff, and his hearing had faded, but as Ethan wrapped his small arms tightly around the old dog's neck and whispered, "Thank you for saving my life, Rex," the old dog’s tail gave a slow, rhythmic thump... thump... against the hardwood floor.
