Cole swallowed hard. He’d served, too. He knew that kind of bond.

When Cooper finally woke, his eyes darted around the room. Confused. Searching.

Cole knelt beside him. “Hey, buddy. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

The dog stared at him — then licked his hand.

Days passed. Cole came back every morning. He helped feed him, walk him, even bought him a new leash. But every time they reached the clinic door, Cooper would stop and look down the road — waiting.

“He still thinks his owner’s coming back,” Dr. Harlow said softly.

Cole’s voice cracked. “Yeah… I know that feeling.”

A week later, the vet handed him a small metal tag — scratched, faded, but readable. It read: “Cooper – If Found, He’s My Heart.”