A biker found the Golden Retriever tied to the bridge at 3 AM with a message that said, “I can’t afford to put her down.” Please don’t let her suffer.
The dog was about eight years old. On her tummy, there was a growth the size of a softball. Can’t breathe.
Someone had given her a stuffed duck, which was her favorite toy, and some water. People had liked the duck for a long time. But the second note in the collar changed everything.
When I was looking at my bike, I heard whimpering. I’ve been riding for a long time and have never seen anything like this.
This lovely dog was dying and had been left alone, but she still wagged her tail when she saw me. There were two notes on the collar.
The first was about making her sad. The second one was different. The child’s writing. Crayon on paper for notebooks.
“Please save Daisy.” She’s the only one I have left. My dad thinks she has to die, but I know that angels ride bikes. I prayed that you would find her. There is $7.43 in her collar. This is all the money the tooth fairy gave me. “Please don’t let her die alone.” Love, Madison, 7 years old.
But what was written next scared me because the owner wasn’t…
Fifty-eight years old. For forty-two years, I’ve been riding. I thought I had seen it all.
I was wrong.
Tuesday night. It’s really Wednesday morning. Three in the morning. I was on my way back after seeing my brother in hospice. Cancer. A different cancer narrative. I was angry at the world, at God, and at how terrible it was that good people had to die painfully.
The Harley started to make a peculiar noise around the old Cedar Creek Bridge. The one that hasn’t been utilized since they built the expressway. I paused to see what it was. I heard it then.
Crying. Kind. Like something that wants to be quiet but can’t.
I followed the noise. A Golden Retriever was tied to the bridge’s support beam. What a nice puppy. Well taken care of. Collar with tags. But quite thin. Not thick enough. And that growth. That tumor, oh my God. A object the size of a softball hanging from her belly.
She started to wag as she spotted me. Not the joyous wag of a dog that is healthy. The thankful wag of something that thought it would die alone.
“Hey, girl,” I said as I moved up slowly. “Why are you here?”
She made an effort to get up. Nope. The tumor was too large. But she kept wagging her tail and looking at me with those brown eyes that said, “I’m a good dog.” “I’m a good dog.”
There was a bowl of water. Still new. A blanket. Her stuffed duck toy was in bad shape. And there was a letter attached to the beam.
“Her name is Daisy. She has cancer. The vet wants $3,000 for surgery, but she thinks the dog might die anyhow. I don’t have the cash. I also can’t afford to put her down for $400. Please, whoever finds her, don’t allow her get hurt. Do what I couldn’t do. I’m sorry, Daisy. “You should have gotten more.”
When I spotted something else, I was ready to call animal control. There was a second message tucked in her collar. Different styles of writing. A child’s scribbling using a purple crayon.
“Please save Daisy.” She’s all I have left after Mommy went to heaven. Mommy informed me that angels ride motorcycles, but Daddy believes she needs to die. I prayed that you would find her.
There is $7.43 in her collar. This is all the money the tooth fairy gave me. Please don’t let her die alone. Love, Madison, age 7. P.S. Daisy knows how to shake hands and loves peanut butter.
There were 7.43 quarters and dimes within the collar, all wrapped in plastic.
When I sat down on that cold concrete, I cried. This girl assumed that $7.43 would assist her dog. I thought angels rode bicycles. I assumed that prayers worked.
Daisy crawled over with that tumor and laid her head in my lap.
I told her, “Your little girl loves you.” And she’s right: angels do ride motorcycles from time to time.
I called Amy, the vet. I’ve known her for twenty years.
“Hey, Amy? Bear. I know it’s three in the morning, but I truly need you.
“What’s the matter?”
“Found a dog.” Left it behind. Has cancer. “Child involved.”
“How bad?”
“Not good. But you have to try it anyway.”
“Bear, if it’s that bad—”
“Amy, a seven-year-old girl, gave her tooth fairy money to save this dog.” We’re doing our best.
Shut up. Then, “Get her in.”
I had to put Daisy in my truck. I went back to get the bike later. She sat next to me in the passenger seat with her head on my leg and never took her eyes off my face.
We saw Amy at her office. When she spotted Daisy, she shook her head.
“Bear, this is advanced.” “Even if I take out the tumor, it has probably spread.”
“But can you take it off?”
“Maybe.” But it costs a lot. And she’s not very strong. “She might not survive the surgery.”
“How much does it cost?”
“With everything?” Three to four thousand.
I looked at Daisy. Madison sprang to mind. Seven years old. Her mother died. She’s about to lose her dog.
“Do it.”
“Bear, you don’t even know these people.”
“I know a little girl is asking for a miracle.” That’s all I need.
The surgery lasted four hours.
I sat in the lobby and read the note written in purple crayon over and over.
Madison had drawn pictures on the back.
Figures with sticks.
A girl, a dog, and an angel ride a motorcycle.
Amy came out feeling exhausted.
“She made it. The tumor is gone. But Bear, it had spread. I got what I could, but…”
“How long?”
“Maybe six months.” A year, maybe. “If we’re lucky, maybe longer.”
“That’s six months to a year more for her.”
“You spent $4,000 on a stranger’s dog for six months?”
“I’m giving four thousand dollars to a little girl’s hope.”
It took Daisy a long time to get better.
I brought her home and put a bed in my living room.
At first, she couldn’t move very far, but she got stronger every day.
Her tail wagged a little harder every day.
I had to find Madison now.
The collar tags include an address.
It’s a charming neighborhood that used to be better, but now people are barely making it.
I knocked on the door around dinner time, assuming someone would be there.
Someone answered.
They appear tired, their clothes are soiled, and their eyes look suspicious.
“Yeah?”
“You lost a dog?”
He grew pale.
“You found Daisy? Is she…did you…”
“She’s still alive.”
He leaned against the door frame and said, “I couldn’t do it.”
“I couldn’t put her down. But I also couldn’t stand to watch her hurt. I’m not a bad person. I just… I work two jobs, yet it’s still not enough. My wife died last year. Bills for medical care. I am going to die. And now Daisy… Madison doesn’t know. Thinks Daisy left. It hurts her, but it’s better than knowing I left her—”
“DADDY!”
A small voice from within.
“Who is it?”
Madison came.
Age: 7. Blonde hair in pigtails. Missing teeth at the front.
Her eyes went huge when she saw my leather vest.
“Do you ride a motorcycle?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you find Daisy? I asked God to send an angel on a motorcycle to find her.”
Her father started to cry.
“Madison, honey…”
“She’s at my house,” I said. “She had surgery, and the tumor is gone. She’s getting better.”
Madison exclaimed. Nothing but joy.
She jumped up and down and said, “I knew it!” “Mommy was right! I knew angels rode bikes!”
My dad took me aside and said, “I can’t give you back what you gave me.”
“Didn’t ask you to.”
“Why would you do this?”
I delivered him Madison’s note, and he broke down.
“She took the money from the tooth fairy.”
“I had no idea she knew Daisy was sick.”
“Kids know everything.”
“The real question is, do you want Daisy back?”
“Yes, God. But I can’t pay for her medicine. The vet stated, ‘Even after surgery—’”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Why?”
“Because your daughter believes in miracles.”
“She believes that bikers are good people. She lost her mother when she was seven. She doesn’t need to lose anything else.”
We brought Daisy home that weekend.
She was able to move about better.
Even though she was frail, that tail remained wagging.
When she saw Madison, she cried.
Cried for genuine.
Don’t believe anyone who says dogs don’t cry.
Madison was nice. Take care.
I sat next to Daisy and read her stories.
Put peanut butter on a spoon for her.
Always stayed with her.
“Thanks, Mr. Biker Angel,” she said.
“Just Bear.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bear Angel.”
Almost there.
I started to come by once a week.
Giving Daisy her medicine. Dog food.
When I went shopping, I bought things that I would call “extras.”
Tom, Madison’s dad, was proud but not stupid.
He knew what I was doing.
“I’m going to pay you back.”
“You’re not.”
“What’s the point of this?”
“My brother is dying of cancer.”
“I can’t do anything to aid him. But I could help Daisy.”
“Sometimes you save what you can.”
Madison would run outdoors when she heard my Harley.
“Mr. Bear Angel! Daisy made it to the corner today! Daisy ate all of her food! Daisy had fun with Duck!” (Duck was the stuffed animal.)
It had been six months, and Daisy was still alive and becoming stronger.
We knew the cancer was still there, but she was still alive, having fun, and being liked.
My brother died in the seventh month.
I was heartbroken.
I hadn’t seen Tom and Madison in two weeks.
When I finally went back, Madison and Daisy were sitting on the porch together, both wearing the same bandana.
“We were worried,” Madison said. “Daisy missed you.”
“Sorry, kiddo.”
“My brother went to heaven.”
Madison nodded and looked serious. “Like Mommy.”
“Is he really an angel now? Not an angel on a motorcycle, but an angel in heaven?”
“I think so.”
“Okay. Mommy needs some friends. Do you want to see what Daisy learned?”
She had shown Daisy how to “pray” by bringing her paws together and bending her head.
It was funny and lovely, and I laughed for the first time since the funeral.
Tom came out.
“I heard about your brother.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“Madison made you something.”
She sent me a picture.
Me on my bike with wings.
Daisy with wings.
My brother and her mom are up in the sky.
“Thank you for being our angel” is written in purple crayon at the bottom.
Love, Madison and Daisy.
“Wow, that’s so pretty, kiddo.”
“Mr. Angel Bear? Will Daisy go to heaven?”
“Everything good goes to heaven.”
“Will you take care of her until I get there? When I’m really old?”
“Promise.”
One year.
Daisy lived for a year.
The vet was astounded.
Amy said, “Love.” “Love is what makes the difference.”
We all knew Daisy was getting bad.
She stopped eating and playing with Duck, but she still wagged when Madison returned home from school.
“It’s time,” Tom told me. “I can see it,” but I can’t…
“I’ll handle it.”
“Madison will be very sad.”
“She’ll make it.”
“She has her father, and she knows that Daisy was adored.”
We did it on a Sunday.
Madison held Daisy as Amy gave her the shot.
Daisy died peacefully, with her tail wagging till the end.
She looked at Madison with such much love that it broke everyone’s heart.
“She’s with Mommy now,” Madison said between her tears.
“Mommy has Duck’s sister’s toy.” They are having fun.
We buried Daisy in my backyard.
I have more room than Tom.
Madison comes by every week to bring flowers and talk to Daisy about school.
“Mr. Angel Bear?”
“Yeah, kid?”
“You saved her.” She had one more year.
“One more year of love.”
“Your tooth fairy money saved her.”
“Seven dollars and forty-three cents,” she said with a smile that showed her missing teeth.
“The best thing I’ve ever bought.”
Tom acquired a better job.
He works nights in a warehouse.
I monitor Madison while she does her schoolwork at the kitchen table.
We got a second dog and named him Duck, which Madison insisted on.
“Daisy would want us to save another dog,” she said.
She was right.
I have a frame for Madison’s sketch of me riding a motorcycle with wings.
Next to it is a picture of my brother with two angels, one in the sky and one on a Harley.
Madison is twelve now.
She still calls me Mr. Bear Angel and believes in miracles.
Tom is frightened because he is starting to notice males, but she is a good person.
Tom thinks she looks like her mom, and I think she looks like Daisy.
“Bear?” she said last week as she was doing her homework at my table.
“Yeah?”
“I’m writing an essay about heroes.” Is it okay if I write about you?”
“Kid, I’m not a hero.”
“You saved Daisy.” You gave us one more year with her.
“They just ride motorcycles and wear leather.”
“Madison—”
“And when Dad couldn’t get groceries, you brought them. You fixed our car so he could get to work as he cried about Mom at night. You went to the father-daughter dance with me when I didn’t have anybody else to go with. Anyone who is a good person—”
“No. Not anyone. You. A guy on a motorcycle who stopped around 3 a.m. to get a lost puppy. Who spent a lot of money on people they didn’t know. Who made us a family when we didn’t have one.”
She took out her writing.
“Angels Wear Leather: How a Biker Saved My Family” is the name of the book.
I read it. Cried.
This great kid had written down everything. Every time. Every bag of food.
I always “happened” to have extra dog food.
“Can I read one part out loud?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Mr. Bear taught me that family isn’t always blood-related. Sometimes family is a motorcyclist who finds your dying dog and thinks that the tooth fairy money of a seven-year-old is worth more than gold. Sometimes family is someone who comes to see you every week for five years just to make sure you’re okay. Sometimes family is a man who promises to take care of your dog in heaven even though he doesn’t have to. Mr. Bear is my favorite person. My angel. Me and my family.”
Tom walked in next and read the essay over my shoulder.
“She is right, you know,” he replied. “You saved us.”
“Not just Daisy, but us too.”
“I just—”
“You just changed everything for us. Bear, let her turn in the paper.”
Madison won the contest.
She had to read it in front of the whole school, which was made up of 300 kids, their parents, and teachers.
I was in the front row with a leather vest on.
There were other bikers there, too.
Tom the Big. Hey, Jake.
Twenty brothers who had heard the story.
Madison read her essay out loud plainly. No shame. Without a doubt.
Parents cried when she talked about the $7.43.
Teachers cried when she talked about Daisy’s last day.
When she stated, “Mr. Bear taught me that heroes don’t wear capes; they wear leather,” and they all stood up and clapped.
After that, kids came up to me and asked to see the hero on a bike.
The parents thanked me.
One mother said her daughter had been placing money in dog collars at the shelter “for the motorcycle angels.”
“You started something,” she said.
Madison now runs a fund to save animals.
Kids send tooth fairy money to “Daisy’s Angels,” and bikers give real money.
So far, we’ve saved 17 dogs, paid for their surgeries, and given families time they wouldn’t have had otherwise.
All because a seven-year-old girl thought angels rode motorcycles.
All because the tooth fairy gave them $7.43, which was worth more than letting a dog die alone.
When you’re angry at the world for taking good people too soon, you can find a reason to be good yourself.
Daisy lived for another year, and Madison was able to say goodbye in a good way.
Tom got to see his daughter get healthier, and I got a new family when I thought I had lost my last one.
The note is next to Madison’s drawing.
It’s a purple crayon on notebook paper.
It says, “Seven dollars and forty-three cents.”
This is all my tooth fairy money.
That was plenty.
More than enough.
Angels don’t need a lot of cash.
They only need to halt when they hear someone crying in the dark.
Even if that person has a tumor and four legs.
Even if it’s 3 a.m. on a bridge that no one uses anymore.
With only $7.43 and a prayer that angels ride motorbikes, you can still get what you want.
Yes, they do, Madison.
Yes, they do.
