Pedro slowed near the base, scanning the ground, the nearby bushes, anything that might hold a trace of her. “Lola,” he whispered at first, stepping closer. Nothing. The night answered only with wind and rustling branches. His heart sank. “Lola!” he called again, louder this time. Still nothing.
But then, a bark. Faint. Distant. Hope surged through him like a wave. “Lola!” he shouted, spinning toward the sound. Another bark, clearer this time, carried through the bushes. He ran, stumbling across uneven grass, calling her name again and again, following the voice like it was a lifeline.
The sound grew stronger until he stopped at a thick tangle of shrubs near the far end of the lawn. Carefully, he parted the branches— there she was. But the moment Pedro saw her, he forgot how to breathe….
Pedro unlocked his shop, the faint clang of the door echoing through the quiet street. As he set up for the day ahead, his thoughts were focused on the hours of work before him. The campus, however, was waking up—and so was his shop.
Pedro had started his food cart at just nineteen, a small hotdog stand outside the college gates. Over the years, his business had grown, becoming a student hotspot. The simple but tasty fare, along with Pedro’s welcoming nature, turned his cart into a small empire right at the heart of campus.
The shop was small—four tables and a few plastic chairs—but it was always buzzing. Students came not just for the food but for the atmosphere Pedro had built over the years. It was more than a quick meal—it was a refuge, a place where they could be themselves and feel seen.
Pedro worked tirelessly behind the counter, always ready with a smile, a quick joke, and an ear for students. He’d never been to college himself, but that didn’t stop him from being a mentor. They came to him not just for hotdogs, but for the advice only someone like him could offer.
Though Pedro had never attended college, he had a wealth of wisdom. He listened to students’ problems—be it exams, relationships, or uncertain futures—and offered the best advice he could. His food was always the comfort, but his empathy was the reason they kept coming back, time and time again.
Pedro had a way of spotting the students who needed a little extra help—those struggling financially or emotionally. Without a second thought, he’d offer a free meal or give them a discount, ensuring no one ever left his cart hungry. He became more than a shop owner; he became their campus brother.
It was another busy morning at Pedro’s shop. He was taking an order from a student when he noticed Lola walking toward him, her usual leaf gently gripped in her mouth. She stopped just outside the line, tail wagging, and waited, just like a regular customer.
Pedro chuckled quietly, his eyes meeting Lola’s. She waited patiently, her eyes on him, the leaf still in her mouth. As the line moved forward, Lola stepped closer, never rushing, as if she knew that she had to wait for her turn. Pedro finished with the student in front of him and smiled at Lola.
“Here you go, girl,” he said, gently taking the leaf from her mouth. Lola responded with a soft wag of her tail, waiting expectantly. Pedro reached for a sausage, placing it carefully in her mouth. Without a sound, Lola trotted over to the large tree next to the shop, content with her prize.
The students around him glance at the scene with a mix of amusement and curiosity. Pedro watched Lola enjoying her sausage without a care in the world and chuckled to himself when he heard oooh and aahs coming from the crowd and a couple of students taking Lola’s videos.
A year ago, Lola was nothing more than a timid stray pup with soft fur, oversized ears, and a wary gaze. She wandered the campus grounds, a tiny figure darting between benches and bushes, always alert, always alone. Most students thought she belonged to someone—until they realized she didn’t.
Lola had been the runt of her litter, left behind when her mother moved the others. No collar, no home, and no protection, she survived on luck and leftover crumbs. By afternoon, she’d settle under the same weathered bench near the engineering block, curling into herself, waiting for nightfall.
Pedro had seen his fair share of stray dogs in the area. Some barked, some begged, and some simply passed by. But this little pup—quiet, observant—kept showing up under the tree near his shop, never causing trouble. Just sitting, eyes half-closed, ears twitching at every sound.
At first, Pedro didn’t pay her much attention. He was busy—students lined up from morning till late evening, orders flying, ketchup bottles squirting, jokes exchanged. But Lola stayed. Day after day, she’d lie beneath the tree, occasionally glancing his way, her ribs just slightly visible under her light coat.
She relied on students—those who were moved by her floppy ears or big eyes—to slip her a biscuit or a crust. Once in a while, someone would give her part of a sandwich. Slowly, she became part of the scenery: a quiet little creature curled up near the buzzing shop, too polite to beg.
Then, one late autumn afternoon, something changed. Pedro looked up from the sizzling griddle to see Lola—no longer just lounging nearby—standing in the queue with the rest of the students. She held a green leaf gently in her mouth, waiting behind a tall boy with a backpack.
He almost laughed at the funny sight but held it in. She wasn’t barking, wasn’t restless—just standing in line like it was the most natural thing in the world. Pedro returned to his work, slightly amused, until the line moved and Lola stepped forward with a confident little trot and placed her leaf on the counter.
Pedro blinked, unsure what to make of it. Why was she giving him a leaf? She looked at him, her head cocked slightly to the right, eyes expectant. For a moment, he hesitated. Then she gave a short bark and nudged the leaf forward with her snout, as if insisting on her turn.
He glanced around, hoping someone might explain what was going on, but the students in line looked just as puzzled. Was she sick? Did she want to play? He searched her face for clues, but she just stared—calm, confident, like this was completely normal. Pedro scratched his head, confused.
That’s when a student laughed. “She’s trying to pay with that leaf!” he said, pulling out his phone. Realization washed over Pedro, Lola had seen people paying with a dollar bill. In her doggy brain, the dollar bill must have resembled a green leaf. Pedro chuckled softly. Without a word, he took the leaf like it was a hundred-dollar bill, then offered her a sausage. Lola took it gently, tail wagging.
That moment marked the beginning of something special. Every morning since, at precisely 11 a.m., Lola would appear with a fresh leaf in her mouth. She’d wait in line, leaf clutched like currency, and exchange it for a sausage before heading back to the tree to eat and nap.
It became a ritual. Students started timing their lunch break just to witness it. Some even brought extra leaves, just in case she forgot. But Lola never did. Her steps were steady, her routine precise. Pedro smiled each time, accepting the leaf like a sacred token, honoring their unspoken pact.
It wasn’t long before Lola’s charming routine became a spectacle on campus. Students who had once hurried past Pedro’s shop now lingered, eager to see “the dog who paid with a leaf.” Phones came out as soon as Lola joined the queue, her little ritual sparking laughter, wonder, and countless photos.
What began as a heartwarming moment became a magnet for business. Students brought their friends to witness it, and more came for the food after seeing Lola’s performance online. Pedro, once used to managing the shop solo, found himself swamped with orders. He eventually hired an assistant to help.
As the lines grew longer, Pedro realized how deeply Lola had woven herself into his life. She was no longer just a stray—she was his daily joy, his morning companion, and, unknowingly, his most effective marketing strategy. Each leaf she offered was more than a gesture; it was a gift.
Lola became the face of Pedro’s business—literally. A student designed a cartoon of her holding a leaf, which Pedro printed on T-shirts, takeaway bags, and even a small banner above his shop. People came for the food, but they stayed for the story—Lola’s story. And Pedro was grateful every day.
He often thought about adopting her properly, giving her a real home and a warm bed. But his wife had severe allergies to animal fur, and bringing Lola home was simply not an option. It hurt, but Pedro didn’t let that stop him from caring for her the best way he could.
He bought her a soft dog bed and placed it under the tree, along with a few squeaky toys and a blanket for chilly days. Lola accepted it all with quiet gratitude, curling up each afternoon after her leaf-and-sausage exchange, dozing off under the branches as students walked by with fond smiles.
Their days began to follow an unspoken rhythm. Pedro didn’t check the clock anymore. He simply waited for the soft tap of paws and the flash of green in Lola’s mouth. Like clockwork, she arrived every day at 11 a.m.—not a minute early, not a minute late. Until, one day, she didn’t.
It had been a particularly busy morning. Orders flew in, and Pedro worked without pause, wiping sweat from his brow as the crowd swelled. It wasn’t until he handed out the last plate and leaned against the cart for a breather that he checked his phone. 11:36 a.m. No Lola.
A twinge of concern crept in. Pedro stood straighter, eyes scanning the street, then the tree. Nothing. He couldn’t leave the cart, not during the lunch rush, and besides, Lola was a stray—she could’ve wandered off anywhere. Still, something about her absence felt wrong, and Pedro couldn’t help but worry that something was wrong.
The thought weighed on him all afternoon. When it was finally time to close, Pedro packed up quickly and set off across the campus, eyes darting between trees and benches, calling her name under his breath. Maybe she was sick. Or hurt. Maybe she was lying somewhere, waiting to be found.
He walked for over an hour, weaving through dorm courtyards and quiet lecture halls, checking her usual nap spots. But there was no sign of her—not even a rustle in the bushes or a flash of fur in the grass. Eventually, he gave up, heart heavy, and trudged home in silence.
The next morning, Pedro opened his shop with an unusual tightness in his chest. Even as he chopped onions and flipped sausages, his eyes flicked to his phone every few minutes. At five minutes to eleven, he stepped outside, scanning the street, willing Lola to appear with her leaf.
He waited for ten long minutes, his gaze fixed on the road where she always came trotting with that confident little bounce. Nothing. Just passing students and the occasional cyclist. A dull ache bloomed behind his ribs. Something wasn’t right. She never missed two days in a row. Never.
A couple of students noticed Pedro standing outside. One of them, a girl holding a sandwich, asked gently, “No Lola today?” Pedro shook his head, sighing. “She didn’t come yesterday either. I don’t know where she’s gone. I’m getting worried.” The concern on their faces mirrored what he felt inside.
Joseph, a lanky design major and one of Pedro’s earliest customers, stepped up from the back of the line. “Let me help,” he offered. “We’ll make a missing poster for her. I can design something quickly.” Pedro’s brows lifted, touched. “You’d really do that?” Joseph nodded. “She’s part of this place.”
Within twenty minutes, Joseph had sketched a clean, striking poster—Lola mid-stride, leaf in mouth, her name in bold above a brief description. Another student offered to handle printing. Pedro pressed a few bills into his hand, and by mid-afternoon, they had a stack of over a hundred missing posters ready to go.
Pedro assumed he’d be taping them alone after closing, but before he could even start, a small group of students—regulars he recognized by face if not always by name—showed up and offered to help. “We’ll cover the dorms,” one said. “I’ll do the bookstore and that coffee shop,” another added.
By sunset, posters fluttered from lamp posts, bulletin boards, and dorm entrances. The tree near Pedro’s shop had one too, right above Lola’s little dog bed. Pedro stood there watching them work, humbled. These kids weren’t just customers—they cared. Not just for him, but for her. A little stray.
Now, all they could do was wait. Pedro kept his phone close at all times, jumping whenever it buzzed. But each time, it was just a supplier, a delivery notification, or his wife checking in. No one had seen Lola. No one had called. The silence was beginning to gnaw at him.
That evening, after closing the shop, Pedro climbed into his old car and began driving slowly around the outer edges of campus. He kept his window down, calling her name softly. Once or twice, he spotted a flash of black and white fur and his heart leapt—only to fall again.
Each time, he pulled over, got out, and checked. Once, it was a scrappy terrier. Another time, just a shadow near the bins. He checked alleyways and peeked behind dumpsters, looking for the glint of a purple collar—one his wife had lovingly sewn by hand. But there was nothing. No Lola.
Disheartened, he returned home late, barely speaking. Before bed, he pressed his palms together, whispering a quiet prayer. He hoped she was warm, somewhere safe, not hurt or alone. More than anything, he wished he’d look up tomorrow at 11 and see her trotting down the road, leaf in mouth.
Three days passed, and still, there was no sign of Lola. No texts, no tips, no sightings that amounted to anything meaningful. Pedro tried to stay hopeful, but each day that passed without her little leaf-in-mouth arrival felt heavier than the last. The silence was becoming unbearable.
Early the next morning, Pedro left home earlier than usual. With a rolled-up poster in hand, he visited every shop near the campus—cafés, stationery stores, convenience marts—asking the same question: “Have you seen this dog?” Each reply was a shake of the head, an apologetic smile, a soft sorry, no.
By mid-morning, worry wrapped itself tightly around his chest. Bad thoughts, the kind he tried hard to push away, kept creeping in—What if she was hurt? What if she was gone? His hands moved on autopilot at the shop, but his mind was far away, spinning scenarios he couldn’t bear.
His phone buzzed constantly, but none of the messages brought relief. Students, friends, and even a couple of professors sent comforting notes: “She’ll turn up,” “Dogs are resilient,” “Don’t give up.” Pedro appreciated the kindness, but none of it eased the ache of not knowing. At eleven, he looked down the road again. Nothing.
The rest of the day crawled by. Pedro smiled when customers approached, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His movements behind the cart were precise as ever, but slower, more subdued. Without realizing it, his usual jokes and warm banter had vanished. Even his assistant spoke more quietly than usual.
Some students had stopped coming altogether—those who once took detours just to see Lola, who lingered under the tree with her as they ate. Her absence left a gap not only in Pedro’s life but in the soul of the shop itself. The buzz had dimmed, replaced by a quiet longing.
It had now been a full week since Lola was last seen. Pedro caught himself staring at the corner of the street at odd intervals, expecting her to appear. Even the distant sound of a barking dog could stir his hope—and then crush it again when it wasn’t her.
Some of the students tried to cheer Pedro up—offering theories that she might’ve followed a new student home, or that someone loving had adopted her. “Maybe she’s living in luxury now,” one said with a grin. Pedro smiled politely, but deep down, he didn’t believe it. Lola wouldn’t just leave him like that.
As the evening light faded and Pedro wiped down the last of the tables, he checked his phone again. A new message. A number he didn’t recognize. He opened it, heart hammering. The message was short and jolting. Someone had seen a black and white dog hit by a car—a week ago.
The sender explained they lived just a couple kilometers outside the college. They had reported the accident to the police at the time and then tried to forget about it — until they saw the missing poster today. “Thought you should know,” the message read. Pedro stared at the screen, and his heart plummeted.
Pedro felt the ground slip beneath him as he read the message. His hands trembled as he typed a reply, asking for the name of the police station where the report had been filed. Within minutes, he had the address. Grabbing his keys, he locked the cart and rushed out.
The drive felt endless. His mind spiraled with every possible outcome—was she alive but hurt? Gone forever? He gripped the steering wheel, whispering prayers under his breath. Please let her be okay. Please let it not be her. The silence of the road was loud with dread.
When he reached the station, Pedro barely paused to shut the car door. He hurried inside, breath uneven, and approached the front desk. “The dog,” he said, his voice shaking. “The one hit by the car a week ago. Black and white. Please—do you know what happened to her?”
The officer looked up, his face neutral at first, then slowly shifting as he recalled the case. “Yes, we had a report. The dog didn’t make it. She passed away shortly after. We cremated her two days later.” Pedro stood there, frozen, before his face crumpled and the tears began to fall.
The officer’s tone softened. “Was she yours?” Pedro nodded, unable to speak. “Yes,” he whispered after a beat. “She was my Lola.” The officer hesitated, brow furrowing slightly. “Strange. The tag on her collar said Rusty. Are you sure it was your dog?” Pedro’s breath caught mid-sob, a flicker of hope igniting.
He wiped his eyes, heart pounding now for a different reason. “Rusty?” he repeated. “Could you show me a picture?” The officer nodded, turning to a file drawer behind the desk. “Yeah, we took a few for the record. Hold on.” Pedro held his breath as the man searched.
The officer returned with his phone, scrolling for a few seconds before handing it over. Pedro’s eyes landed on the image—and he exhaled sharply. The dog in the photo was black and white, yes, but it was a Boston Terrier. It wasn’t Lola.
His heart cracked all over again at the poor animal’s fate, but under that grief, a sense of relief bloomed. It hadn’t been her. Lola might still be out there. Somewhere. Hurt, lost, scared—but alive. Pedro clutched the phone for a moment, whispering a shaky thank you before handing it back.
Outside the station, Pedro stood still for a long moment. He couldn’t move. His emotions—grief, hope, exhaustion—tangled into a knot in his chest. That hadn’t been Lola, but that didn’t mean she was safe. He still had no idea where she was. Or if she was coming back at all.
The encounter left him so rattled that he didn’t want to go home. Instead, he drove straight back to the shop. The street was empty, the shutters on nearby stores closed for the night. He unlocked the door, left the lights off except one bulb, and sat down inside—alone.
His eyes wandered to the corner beneath the tree. He pictured Lola—confident and small—waiting patiently in line with her leaf. She must’ve seen students handing over green bills, those fluttering slips of paper, and thought, this is what humans do. So she found her version. Her own green currency.
The thought nearly undid him—but then, it clicked. The leaf. Always the same kind. Same size. Same color. Lola wasn’t just picking any leaf off the ground. She had a source. For the first time in days, Pedro sat up straighter. If he could find the tree—he might find her.
He moved quickly, eyes sweeping over drawers and shelves until he spotted it: a dry, slightly curled leaf tucked beside the cash counter. Carefully, he laid it flat and took a photo. On Google Images, he uploaded it. The result blinked onto the screen: American Beech Leaf.
Pedro read the description with sharp focus. Smooth-edged. Veined. Slightly serrated. Its fruit was a spiky brown husk. Not a tree you’d find lining sidewalks. It needed open space. A lot of it. And then it came to him—not in a flash, but with a slow certainty. He knew exactly where to look.
Pedro jumped to his feet, the realization pulsing through him. He didn’t bother turning off the light or straightening a single chair. In a blur, he grabbed his keys, locked the shop, and took off toward the west wing of campus—his breath quickening with each step on the pavement.
There was only one place on campus that might have a tree like that—the quiet lawn behind the old humanities library. That part of the university had been around for generations, with broad grassy areas and mature trees that no one ever paid much attention to anymore.
He reached the edge of the lawn, panting, chest tight. Under the yellow glow of a streetlamp, he spotted it: a massive tree standing alone in the middle of the open grass, branches arching wide like an umbrella. The leaves shimmered faintly in the light. It had to be the one.
He slowed near the base, scanning the ground, the nearby bushes, anything that might hold a trace of her. “Lola,” he whispered at first, stepping closer. Nothing. The night answered only with wind and rustling branches. His heart sank. “Lola!” he called again, louder this time. Still nothing.
But then, a bark. Faint. Distant. Hope surged through him like a wave. “Lola!” he shouted, spinning toward the sound. Another bark, clearer this time, carried through the bushes. He ran, stumbling across uneven grass, calling her name again and again, following the voice like it was a lifeline.
The sound grew stronger until he stopped at a thick tangle of shrubs near the far end of the lawn. Carefully, he parted the branches—and there she was. Behind the cover, curled in the dry leaves, lay Lola—tired, but alert, and flanked by two tiny pups nursing quietly by her side.
Pedro stared, stunned. His chest tightened as realization washed over him—this is why she hadn’t come. He dropped to his knees, overwhelmed. He scooped her up with great care, wrapping one arm around her frail body. One by one, he lifted the tiny pups and tucked them into the deep inner pocket of his jacket, where they nestled into the warmth. He turned and ran back to the run, driving straight to the nearest vet.
The vet took them in immediately. After a thorough check-up, she smiled and said, “She’s just weak and undernourished. The pups are healthy too.” Relief hit Pedro like a soft flood. He thanked her again and again, eyes misty, heart thudding. They were all okay. That was all that mattered.
Within a few days, Lola began regaining her strength. Pedro built a cozy outdoor doghouse just outside his home, lined with old blankets and a roof to keep them dry. He adopted her fully forever—too scared to ever let her go again. She and the pups were finally home.
These days, Lola still rode to work with Pedro in the front seat of his truck, head out the window, ears flapping in the wind. She was still the star of the shop—the main attraction. Only now, she didn’t need to bring a leaf to earn a meal.