Every evening at exactly 5:10 p.m., a small brown dog with a crooked left ear sat in front of the laundromat on Hazel Street. Not wandering, not begging—just sitting. Quietly. Patiently. As if he had somewhere important to be.

People who passed by began to recognize him.
The college students called him “Buddy.”
The elderly women called him “Cookie.”
The children called him “Scruff.”
No one knew his real name. No one knew where he lived.

But everyone knew he waited.

The laundromat owner, Mr. Alvarez, was the first to notice a pattern. “He comes when the 5 p.m. bus unloads,” he said to a customer one evening. “Always sits there like he’s waiting for someone to step off.”

But no one ever did.

A week passed, then two. Buddy (or Scruff or Cookie) never missed a day. Rain? He sat. Wind? He sat. Cold? He curled his paws under his chest but stayed in the same spot, eyes fixed on the bus stop across the street.

One rainy Thursday, a teenager named Mia approached him. She crouched down to his level and rubbed his head gently.

“Who are you waiting for?” she whispered.

The dog’s tail moved once, as if he wanted to answer but didn’t know how.

She brought him half her sandwich. He took it politely, then returned his gaze to the bus stop, ignoring her completely. As if eating was a small interruption to something far more important.

The rain grew heavier. Mia frowned.

“You’ll get sick out here,” she said softly.

But he stayed.

The next day, she brought a small towel and placed it on the ground so he wouldn’t have to sit on cold pavement. He sniffed it and settled down gratefully. The day after that, Mr. Alvarez brought out a water bowl. By the weekend, the whole block had become invested in the mysterious dog who waited for someone no one had ever seen.

“Maybe his owner is gone,” someone said.
“Maybe he got lost,” another guessed.
“Maybe he lives around here,” someone else suggested.

But every day at 5:10, he came from the same direction—down the hill, past the bakery, across the street—and sat in front of the laundromat facing the bus stop.

Always hoping.

Always waiting.

Until one Tuesday evening, something changed.

The bus arrived. People stepped off—one, two, three. Then a familiar figure appeared. An older man with a cane, limping slightly, wearing a jacket that had clearly been patched many times. His face was tired, but his eyes were searching.

The dog froze.

Then he sprinted.

Not trotted—sprinted, almost tripping over his own paws in excitement.

The man looked up just in time to see a brown blur launch toward him. The dog collided with his legs, whining, circling, pressing his head into the man’s coat as if trying to merge with him after months apart.

The man dropped his cane and knelt slowly, wrapping both arms around his dog.

“Bruno,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, boy… I’m so damn sorry.”

People nearby stared, overwhelmed.

The teenager Mia covered her mouth. Mr. Alvarez stepped outside, heart thudding. Everyone on that street had cared for the dog in some small way—but no one expected the reunion.

A woman approached the man gently. “We’ve been seeing your dog here every day. He never gave up.”

The old man nodded, tears gathering in his eyes.

“I was in the hospital,” he said quietly. “No one could take him in. I thought…” He paused, voice shaking. “I thought he’d forget me or… wander off.”

Mia shook her head. “He waited for you. Every single day.”

The man buried his face in his dog’s fur. “I should’ve known. He’s always been loyal.”

Bruno licked his chin desperately, as if afraid he might disappear again.

When the man stood up with the help of a stranger, Bruno stayed glued to his side. They walked home slowly—down the hill, past the bakery, toward a small red house hidden behind a tall oak tree.

They didn’t look back.

But the neighborhood did.

For weeks afterward, Bruno still visited the laundromat—but now only to say hello. He’d trot past at random hours, greet Mia with a wag, sniff Mr. Alvarez’s shoes, accept a treat, then hurry back to the house with the tall oak tree.

He didn’t need the bus stop anymore.

He had found what he’d been waiting for.