Today started like any other. I was out on my usual run with my dog, Blue, when I noticed a little girl standing outside a funeral home. She called out, “Can I pet your puppy?” I smiled and said, “Of course! As long as your parents are okay with it!”

Her answer stopped me in my tracks.

“Oh, my parents aren’t out here—my mom’s inside, and my daddy died… we’re at his funeral.”

Before I could even find the words, Blue walked right up to her, sat down gently, and waited. The little girl wrapped her arms around Blue’s neck and held on tight.

Slowly, friends and family gathered around us. I noticed there weren’t any dry eyes—except hers. I quickly blinked back my own tears, grateful for my tinted sunglasses, and we chatted for a few minutes. Then, with a sudden burst of excitement, she said, “I want you to meet my Daddy! Can you please come meet him?”

I told her I’d be honored—though I warned her I didn’t exactly look my best after a 3-mile run. She didn’t care.

So I followed her inside. She proudly introduced me to her mom, her grandparents, and finally, her dad. She showed me the beautiful flowers around his casket, telling me how pretty everything looked. Then she asked if Blue and I could stay just a little longer so she could pet her again. Of course, we did.

Her aunt and uncle stood nearby, tears running down their faces. Her aunt leaned in and whispered, “I think God led you and Blue over here today for a reason… Blue’s love and gentleness have really touched our hearts.”

I’ve always called Blue my “gentle giant.” She has an uncanny way of sensing sadness, meeting it not with excitement, but with stillness, warmth, and calm. Today, she gave that gift to a little girl on one of the hardest days of her life.

Sometimes comfort doesn’t come in words—it comes in the quiet presence of a loving soul who simply knows when to stay close. And today, that soul was Blue.