Today, I witnessed something that stopped me in my tracks.
Tucked beneath a leaning willow in the corner of the park sat a silver-coated Weimaraner named Elska. Her back straight, her eyes calm but distant, she stared at the worn bench across from her as if expecting someone she deeply missed.
I asked a woman nearby if she knew the dog. “That’s Elska,” she said. “She comes here every morning. Rain, snow, doesn’t matter. She stays for a while, then walks herself home.”
Elska used to visit this very bench every morning with her companion an older woman who passed away last spring. But Elska never stopped returning. She still waits. Still hopes.
Watching her, I felt something crack open. Loyalty that deep doesn’t fade with time. She wasn’t just remembering she was honoring. Holding space for a bond that death couldn’t break.
In that quiet corner, surrounded by rustling leaves and the rhythm of the wind, Elska reminded me: love like that doesn’t vanish. It lingers. Sometimes, it comes back to the same place. Just to wait.
