The moment the dog reached my brother, he latched onto his jacket with practiced care—like he knew exactly what to do. My brother didn’t resist. He just let his body go limp.

A lifeguard onshore yelled for a stretcher. Paramedics rushed past me. I climbed down, legs shaking, and pushed through the crowd.

When they pulled him out, he was barely breathing. Face pale. Lips blue. One of the EMTs started CPR while the other injected something into his arm. I couldn’t get to him through the crowd, but I saw his fingers twitch.

The dog sat beside the stretcher, soaked and panting, as if waiting for confirmation he’d done his job right.

I knelt next to him.