At 3:07 a.m., I stopped my motorcycle on a bridge because something felt off. That’s when I heard a faint whimper. In the shadows, I found an older golden retriever chained to the railing—sick, exhausted, barely breathing, with a large tumor on her belly. Someone had left her water and a worn stuffed duck. When she saw me, her tail moved just once.
Two notes were tucked into her collar. One, written by an adult, begged for her suffering to end. The other was in a child’s crayon handwriting, asking me to save Daisy, saying “angels ride motorcycles,” and offering $7.43 in tooth fairy money. At the bottom, in smaller writing, were chilling words: Daddy says not to tell anyone where we live.
I rushed Daisy to an emergency vet. She couldn’t be saved, but she was kept comfortable and loved. A social worker helped trace the note to a seven-year-old girl named Madison, living in a motel with her struggling father. Madison believed someone good would find her dog—and she was right.
Madison got to say goodbye, holding Daisy as she passed peacefully. Before I left, she gave me the stuffed duck so I wouldn’t forget. I still ride that bridge sometimes. And every time I do, I remember that angels don’t always have wings—sometimes, they ride motorcycles.
