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Here Comes the Sunflower

She had no coins to offer the woman asking for help, but her Pomeranian gave the woman something more valuable.

By Kirsten Anderson, New York, New York

As appeared in

“Come on, Sunflower,” I pleaded. “It’s cold!” My orange Pomeranian had sniffed every inch of sidewalk outside the door of my New York City apartment all the way around the block. This was my little angel’s idea of fun, but it was a dark January night and I wanted to get back inside.

Sunflower had other ideas. She headed to the subway entrance and pushed a candy wrapper with her nose. “Any change?” a woman at the top of the steps asked. She held a cup that jingled when she shook it.

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I hadn’t brought my purse. Sunflower trotted over to the woman, wagging her tail as if to apologize.

“I love animals!” the woman said, bending down to admire Sunflower. “Animals don’t lie or tell stories or do bad things to you.”

Sunflower popped her paws up on the woman’s knees and gave her a big kiss. “I’m sorry I don’t have any money on me,” I said.

The woman looked up with teary eyes. “That’s okay. This is better than a million dollars,” she said. “Good night, Miss.”

“Good night,” I said, tearing up myself. Sunflower just wagged her tail. She had given what she could–love. The best gift of all.

 

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