Blake's POV

My son's first day of school was on a Monday. He was going to be in the third grade. I was so proud of him. But more proud of myself I was his father.

      My wife, Annie, always called him a miracle, because he was the first who lived. All of our other children before him ended up as stillborns or miscarriages, which made us feel like giving up after so long of trying. But when we were finally blessed with Liam, our family was officially complete. Everything we wanted was right here.

Or so we thought...

It was a few years after when we were blessed with our second child: a little girl we named Grace, in remembrance of my mother who passed away before she could meet her.

However, Grace's life was short-lived. She was diagnosed with leukemia at the age of two and died several months later.

I wasn't sure who cried the most at her funeral: me or my wife. It was just a sad day for everyone. So much loss in the family.

    From my mother who died in a car wreck after living a daring life and from Grace being only two years younger than Liam when she held her final breath, I couldn't escape the loss. But my wife, devastated by everything, decided to have her tubes tied, swearing to never conceive a child ever again.

It seemed the pain was beginning to be too much for her. She would stay up at night crying, having dreadful nightmares. Even though I spent most of those nights trying my best to comfort her, knowing I had work in the morning, she didn't seem at all happy or satisfied with her life anymore.

To change the subject, I grew up loving the idea of being a teacher. My wife loved the idea. In high school, I was considered a nerd. Annie thought and admired that as was my best quality. My favorite subjects were English and History, but I chose English as my major to teach once I graduated college.

It was just something about English that made my skin crawl.

There was this one day where, after not getting any sleep from comforting my wife, I still got up early and went to school.

I thought I would teach my class about the Holocaust, the impact of stories like Anne Frank's, and have them read articles on survivors since so many wanted to know what happened and why.

The why part still leaves me with questions.

But it was while I was in the middle of teaching, I was given the worst news ever.

Thirty year old me was struggling to make things work with my wife. As much as I wanted her to be happy, I also wanted to be too. I wanted for us to be happy together, if that made any sense anymore.

But it was the news that my wife got in a car accident just like my mother did, hitting a tree going fast and dying on impact, that killed all happiness left inside of me. I think I was at my breaking point of having lost too much.

I dismissed my class early for lunch and fell completely out of my element, taking a month off, barely making my bill payments on time, and succumbing to alcohol as a coping mechanism.

I found my way to rehab quickly after my first blackout. I couldn't bear to hurt Liam, so I never got drunk again, got clean, and got my old job back. It took many office hours and sucking up to my old boss before I ever got to stand in front of students and teach again...

In the cupboard was the liquor, but I wouldn't drink it. It was there as a reminder to keep my mind off of Annie. She was the best, most genuine person to ever come into my life, besides my children, and she was gone like the wind. She was gone and there was no way of bringing her back. She left me with the pain of raising Liam alone.

According to a witness, she began to fall asleep behind the wheel, causing the impact, killing her and injuring a young couple in the other vehicle.

I blamed myself for her death. Maybe if I had spent more time with her, I could have prevented her from getting in that car after going days without sleep. Maybe if I had been a better husband and father, I would have known better. Maybe she would still be here and Liam wouldn't have to ask me why she and his sister left us.

Deep down I know I shouldn't blame myself for my efforts. I did everything I could and I failed.

To conclude this, my name is Blake Davenport and my life eventually got better the day I met her.

...

It was on a Saturday, it was two years after Grace died, two years after Liam's first day of school in the third grade, now he's in fifth, two years after my wife's tragic accident, and the memory of my mother still haunts me, when suddenly there's scratching at our door. Not knocking, scratching.

I wasn't even aware, because I was in the kitchen cooking dinner when Liam opened the front door and yelled, "Daddy, look! There's a dog outside!"

"Liam, get away from the door!" Rushing to protect my son, I saw the stray outside.

A German Shepherd with a beautiful brown and black coat, half the size of Liam, awaited outside on our white porch, wagging its tail as it continued to breath heavily, its tongue hanging out.

I lifted Liam cautiously into my arms, backing up slowly and slamming the door shut.

I wasn't about to let a stray dog into our home, especially with its unknown rabies.

     Besides, it was also time for dinner.

Handing Liam his plate of spaghetti, I could tell how upset he was in his brown eyes as I combed my fingers through his thick and wavy brown hair. I guess seeing that pooch put him in a mood, one I've never seen before.

My assumptions were true when Liam said, "Why can't we have a dog?"

How was I supposed to answer his question when I didn't even know the answer? So I tried to make something up. "Because I'm allergic."

Liam chomped down on a meatball and then spoke. "Then how come when we visit Grandpa, you always pick up his chihuahua?"

My son was smart. Evil, but smart. I had to think of another answer. "Because our landlord says we aren't allowed to have dogs."

"Then how come our neighbors have a Pitbull?"

Seriously, who raised this kid? It's like I can't lie or get away with anything I do or say. "Fine, we can't have a dog because we just can't, so finish your food and go do your homework."

That shut him up real fast for someone who grew up so fast. He really didn't have much choice.

But on another note, it wasn't the last we saw of the German Shepherd. It seemed to have followed us wherever we went in the house.

The living room.

The kitchen.

The hallway.

Even the bathroom.

Everywhere there was a window, you could see it looking in at us.

It wasn't about to leave either. I think it was going to stay until we let him or her in.

Then there was more scratching at the front door. Again. Along with some barking.

I was going mad just sitting on the couch, wasting away the hours I could be spending mowing the lawn or taking out trash or something.

        But instead, I was cooped up with nothing I wanted to do, waiting for this dog to leave.

The barking grew louder and louder, to the point where I couldn't take it anymore. Not even a step towards the door and Liam already had his hand on the doorknob.

"What did I say about opening this door?!" I yelled, shoving him behind me for protection.

Liam then glanced at me. "But it's a dog, daddy! Should we help him?"

I was at my breaking point, giving in to Liam and his curiosity as I said, "I'm not sure. Hold on."

I carefully stepped outside, not once removing my eyes from the dog standing just inches away.

Kneeling down, hoping it doesn't bite, I inspected its paw, noticing marks bigger than something of a mosquito. "It looks like you chewed at your paw," I muttered to the dog.

I gently held its paw in my hand for reassurance of no harm. "Hey, Liam, go and grab the medical kit! It should be upstairs in my room somewhere!"

Not once checking to see if he left yet, I heard his feet stammering up the steps and just knew that he was doing what I told him to.

Rising to my feet, I ushered the dog to enter my home to be fixed up and looked at, not really caring if he or she was infested with rabies.

All I cared about now was helping this dog, because if my wife were here, she would have.

So it's what I'm going to do.