Because love has no finish line

It was the morning of the Chicago Marathon. The air was crisp, the kind of quiet cold that wakes your soul. The city lights still glowed against the dawn as runners filled the streets, pinning bibs, stretching, and trying to calm the pre race jitters.

That is when I noticed an older gentleman off to the side. His One Tail at a Time singlet looked well worn, the kind that carried years of purpose. On his shoe was a small metal dog tag that shimmered under the streetlight, and on his arm, a paw print tattoo.

We started talking because we were both running and fundraising for the same cause. Helping shelter dogs through One Tail at a Time. What began as small talk quickly turned into something deeper.

When I asked about the tag, he paused, then smiled softly. It is for Max, he said. Max a million. One in a million. Max was his service dog. After returning home from military service, the world felt distant and unfamiliar. The nights were long. The silence heavy. Max was the bridge that helped him find his way back.

When panic struck, Max was there. When sleep would not come, Max rested beside him until morning. When loneliness took over, Max drew people in and helped him reconnect to life again.

Max gave me my second chance, he said. He even introduced me to my wife. She stopped to pet him one day, and that was it. Max decided she was the one.