I found her at 3:07 a.m. on a bridge I ride often. I’d pulled my motorcycle over when I heard a sound so small I almost missed it—a whimper.

On the far side of the bridge, where the streetlights faded, a golden retriever was chained to the railing. She was old, weak, and barely breathing. A tumor stretched her belly tight. But when she saw me, her tail moved—just once.

Beside her was a bowl of water and a worn stuffed duck. This wasn’t cruelty. It was desperation.

Two notes were tucked into her collar. The first, written by an adult:
I can’t afford to put her down. Please don’t let her suffer.

The second was in crayon.

Please save Daisy. She’s all I have left. Daddy says she has to die, but I know angels ride motorcycles. I prayed you’d find her. There’s $7.43 in her collar. It’s all my tooth fairy money. Please don’t let her die alone.
—Madison, age 7

I wrapped Daisy in my jacket and rushed her to the emergency vet. They bought her comfort, not a cure.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about Madison.

Two days later, a social worker found her living in a motel with her father—jobless, drowning in medical bills. Daisy had been sick for months.

Madison got to say goodbye. Daisy passed peacefully, her head in the girl’s lap.

Before I left, Madison gave me the stuffed duck.

“So you don’t forget,” she said.

I never will.

Angels don’t always have wings.
Sometimes, they ride motorcycles.