Dana stood beside him.
Noah looked around the room, touched the oxygen tubing beneath his nose, and asked one question.
“Where’s the dog?”
Dana believed he was confused.
“What dog?”
“The one in the water.”
She called Marcus.
They asked me to visit the hospital. I explained what we knew: the dog was a stray, had no visible collar, left with an injured paw, and had not been located.
Noah listened without interrupting.
“What color was he?”
“Tan.”
“Did one ear go down?”
“Yes.”
Noah raised his left hand and folded it beside his head.
“Like this?”
“Exactly.”
He remembered the ear.
Not my face.
Not Carl’s voice.
Not the ambulance.
He remembered one folded triangle of wet fur beside him in the water.
The family began searching after Noah was medically stable.
They did it carefully.
They contacted animal control, shelters, veterinary clinics, sanitation workers, park staff, and rescue organizations. They shared the dog’s photograph without exaggerating the story or encouraging untrained people to chase him.
