I went back into the store and bought a hot meal from the rotisserie: chicken, potatoes, vegetables, as well as a big bag of kibble and two bottles of water.

When I returned and handed him the bags, his eyes filled with tears.

— “Ma’am…” he whispered, “you have no idea what this means to us.”
— “It’s nothing,” I replied. “Take good care of your companion.”

He thanked me again and again, until he ran out of words.
I wished him good luck, convinced that this was the end of it.

A month later, my boss, Mr. Delcourt, called me into his office.
Pale, tense, strangely silent, he said:

— “Come here! Immediately!”

My heart skipped a beat.

— “Is everything alright?” I asked nervously.
— “It’s about what you did a month ago,” he said in a trembling voice. “For that former soldier… with the dog.”

He closed the door behind me, and I knew this wasn’t going to be an ordinary conversation.