(I’m a cashier at a small toy store. It’s a quiet day and we haven’t had many customers. A father and son come up with a few different puzzles and a Princess Luna toy. I offer the usual polite greetings and smile honestly.)

Me: “Oh, a puzzle. You must be a very smart boy.”

Little Boy: “Yes, I am!”

Me: “Is the pony also for you?”

(The little boy becomes rather sad and breaks eye contact. The father has a worried look on his face. I take out my keys and Pinkie Pie keychain I got as a birthday present.)

Me: “Pinkie Pie is my favorite because she makes me smile. Who’s your favorite?”

Little Boy: *happy again* “Princess Luna, she protects others from nightmares.”

(I finish ringing up their purchase and they leave. A few days later the father returns.)

Father: “Hi, I was here a few days ago with my son.”

Me: “Little boy with the My Little Pony toy? Yes, I remember. What can I do for you?”

Father: “My son was sad because some school bullies tore apart his MLP notebook, so I brought him here to cheer him up. He doesn’t tell strangers he like Ponies, but you were so nice to him, he was back to his old self.”

Me: “Glad I could help, but honestly I don’t see the problem with boys liking toys targeted at a young female demographic. I personally enjoyed Transformers when I was his age, and still do.”

(The kid and his parents come often to say hi, and I later found out they live in the building across from mine, so I’m almost always their go-to babysitter.)

(I work as a housekeeper at a hospital. It is hard work, but I love the people I work with. There is one coworker who I take a liking to, mainly because he is a lot like my grandfather who had died. He is 60 years old and has worked at the hospital for almost 40 years. Whenever someone calls out and we can’t find a replacement, we will have to clean. I typically get partnered up with him. I learn quickly why everyone wants to have him as a partner. He will go down an hour before the time we set to start and he will finish EVERYTHING before I get to the area. One day I find out he often has a hard time finishing my area. In order to make it so I can actually help, I go down one and half hours early. As usual, he comes down an hour early to find I have done most of the area.)

Coworker: “What are you doing down here? We agreed to ten.”

Me: “I knew you would come down at nine and do everything. I wanted to do at least my portion of this area; we are supposed to clean it together! There is a bathroom left that needs to be done.”

Coworker: “But I didn’t need your help!”

Me: “Well, I want to do my portion. So, save me half or I’ll come down even earlier.”

Coworker: *suddenly smiles* “You know what? You remind me of my son.”

Me: “How so?”

Coworker: “You’re a stubborn jacka**.”

Me: “I wonder where he got that trait?”

(I found out after talking to him on our break that his son and wife had died in a car accident five years ago. When he met my wife, he told me that we remind him of how he and his wife were when they first got married. I no longer work as a housekeeper, but we stay in touch. He’s helped my wife and I with getting food in times where we were struggling.)

Many years ago, my husband and I had a futon bed, and then a futon couch and two armchairs, made and upholstered by an older couple with a small shop near our home.

Several years later, I lost my job and we decided to move back to the coast with my severance pay. The covers on the couch and chairs were rather worn by then — we had a small child and three cats — so we decided to have the couple reupholster them before we left, in spite of having to make the money last until we found new employment.

When we went to pick up the couch and chairs, the woman told us there was no charge, as they were retiring very soon and were just using up the fabric they had on hand. No mention of the time and excellent work they had put in. We were gobsmacked, to say the least, and very, very grateful.

My parents and I are stopping by a favorite restaurant for lunch after a therapy appointment, which was difficult but productive. After we get out of the car, we can hear what sounds like a man calling for his pet and, having a pet ourselves, instinctively look over to see what is going on.

It’s not a pretty sight. The shouting man is in a wheelchair, and he is wheeling after a little Chihuahua as fast as his arms and the bumpy pavement allow. Said Chihuahua, dragging along a retractable leash, is gunning for a squirrel which is headed to a side street. This being Massachusetts, the road is ridiculous; it’s incredibly narrow, yet still allows bumper-to-bumper parking on both sides, lets people drive on both sides, has a speed limit of 35 mph — roughly 56 kmh, for the non-American audience — and plenty of people who go faster than that limit. An able-bodied person, a tiny little Chihuahua, and a squirrel could bypass the parked cars, but somebody in a wheelchair has no chance of getting by them without taking a detour to the nearest crosswalk first.

In a panic, my parents and I rush over to the other side of the road to intercept the dog before it puts itself in big danger. The dog is laser-focused on the squirrel and doesn’t even acknowledge us at first. Fortunately, the squirrel is spooked by our charge and takes a sharp left behind a fence and into a tree, out of the dog’s sight. With the squirrel confirmed lost, the dog starts bouncing towards my parents and me and starts demanding that we snuggle — though Mom restrains me, not knowing if the dog is friendly.

It turns out the dog is the remarkably friendly pet of the man in a wheelchair. Apparently, the dog has the body of a Chihuahua, but his personality and mind are more like the Xolo breed, meaning that he’s social, quiet, loyal, somewhat active, and a lover of snuggles, but unable to resist the allure of a good chase. We have lovely, comforting snuggles, with the dog making the rounds to each and every family member. We make small talk with the man as he wheels over to reunite with his beloved pet.

The man and his dog are absolutely adorable. I will never forget the way that man’s face lights up when he sees that his dog is safe, and that we cared about his dog enough to try to prevent it from rushing into the road. He brightens even more when my mom hands him the leash, and the dog sees it as his cue to hop into his owner’s lap and snuggle. The two of them are like father and son. The whole experience causes us cheer up, too, after the difficult therapy session, though the man never knew what exactly had been going on in our lives.

Dog on lap, the man wheels away with a big grin on his face. We never saw him again, nor even remembered his or his dog’s names. The adorable bond between him and his Chihuahua, as well as both of their warmth and kindness, however, we could never forget. If you’re reading this, sir, thank you for being a kind, caring, and loving person. You and your dog were simply yourselves, but that was all you needed to be and more to make our day so much brighter when we needed it.

(My store sells baby chickens in the spring, so before we get them, we set up tanks and fence gates in the middle of the store to attract attention. A father and a little girl come in one morning.)

Little Girl: *gasp!* “Baby chickens!”

(She looks in the tanks, which are empty.)

Little Girl: “Where are the baby chickens?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sweetie, but they’re not here yet. They’ll be here soon.”

Little Girl: “How soon? In a few minutes?”

Me: “No, just a few more days, kiddo.”

Little Girl: “Oh. They are here sometimes, though.”

Me: “That’s right, and I certainly hope your Daddy will bring you back to see them.”

Her Father: “Had you not said it, she’d be begging me, anyway.”