Part 4 – “The Look”
For a second—maybe less—Junebug’s gaze locked on the young woman like a soft hook pulling her out of the fog. The girl leaned forward instinctively, blinking back tears. It wasn’t just a look.
It was permission.
“She sees you,” Margaret whispered. “She wants you to stay.”
Dr. Sorenson said nothing. He stood respectfully in the corner now, hands folded like a priest waiting for a confession to finish. The moment had slipped past medicine and routine. In that small room, it became something else.
Sacred.
The girl reached out and gently touched Junebug’s ear. It was cold but soft, like velvet left on a windowsill overnight. The dog didn’t move, but a faint tremor fluttered beneath her ribs—like a sigh that couldn’t quite rise.
“I never got to say goodbye to Muffin,” the girl said. “But I think… maybe Junebug gave me that.”
Margaret looked over, her eyes tired but warm.
“Animals have a way of passing gifts forward. You never know whose story they’re finishing.”
Junebug’s breathing grew steadier, if slower. The tension in her limbs faded. Margaret watched the curve of her chest, the way it rose like a leaf caught in a still pond, barely moving but not yet gone.
“I’d like to write this down,” the girl whispered. “In your journal.”
Margaret handed it to her without hesitation. “You write what you need.”
The pen hovered for a long time. Then she wrote:
March 10th – The dog looked at me. She saw the goodbye I couldn’t say to Muffin. And somehow, I think Muffin saw it too.
Junebug waited for me to understand something. I’m not sure what. But I feel lighter now.
Maybe healing is when you stop asking why it hurts—and start thanking what stayed long enough to help you through it.
Back in the waiting room, Milo was doing his usual rounds.
“Let’s go, Abigail,” he squawked. “Hippity-hoppity, don’t stop-ity.”
The bunny, half-asleep, raised her ears and ignored him.
The boy with the orange mittens was drawing again—this time, a scene. Margaret saw him glance up at each animal and then back to his notebook. When he held it up, it showed Junebug curled beside a small cartoonish Muffin, both surrounded by floating clovers and hearts.
“She’s not gone yet,” Margaret said gently.
“I know,” the boy answered. “That’s why I’m drawing her now. So I don’t forget the way she looks when she’s still here.”
Margaret nodded, throat tight.
The door chimed again. A new face entered—a man with a chocolate Lab on a rope leash and a limp that suggested old war wounds. His eyes scanned the room, hesitating on each face until they landed on Margaret.
He pointed at Junebug.
“She the famous one?” he asked.
“Famous how?” Margaret asked back, cautiously.
The man sat slowly, patting his Lab’s head.
“Vet tech told me. Said there’s a dog here who’s got a fan club. The one who out-waits everybody.”
Margaret chuckled. “That’d be Junebug.”
“Mind if we wait with her?”
“You’re already doing it,” she said.
He smiled. “Then we’re in the right place.”
Later, after Junebug was resting again in her usual spot beneath the heater, Margaret looked down at her and whispered, “What are you doing, little girl?”
Junebug didn’t respond. But Milo answered from across the room:
“She’s holding the door open. For all of us.”
Continue Reading Part 5 – “The Visitor Log”
