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It was the perfect day for a game of fetch. The afternoon sun was gentle and the spring air was just right. I grabbed Smart, my two-year-old Labrador, and walked to the park across the road. Mum told me to be back in thirty minutes.
Smart loved fetch so much she nearly went crazy, and I loved her for it. I wanted to give her a really good run, so I swung my arm as hard as I could and threw the stick as far as possible. Smart sprinted after it, never taking her brown eyes off the stick. It flew over some trees and landed on... someone!
A homeless man resting on a bench woke up with a start. I felt terrible. I ran over to apologise, and when I saw his face, I couldn't believe my eyes.
"I'm so sorry, sir. Are you all right?" I tried to sound normal while I watched his face. He was dirty and his hair was messy, but his clever eyes hadn't changed at all. It was Mr James Smith, my kind Year 7 science teacher, who had mysteriously disappeared after his son went missing.
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I said sorry again and backed away. I didn't want him to know I had recognised him. As soon as I was out of the park, I hurried towards the police station, with Smart trotting beside me, whining because our game had ended so suddenly.
"Everyone has been looking for him, you know," I explained to her.
The station was only three blocks away. I told the officers everything, and two of them walked back to the park with me. But when we reached the bench, it was empty. I looked everywhere. He must have gone. I remembered the tiny twinkle in his eyes when he looked at me. Maybe he had recognised me too. The officers left, asking me to call them if I saw him again.
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Smart looked up at me and began to sniff the ground. She really was smart; she knew exactly who I was looking for. She led me out of the park, across the street to a row of shops, and into a small lane. Then she barked happily and wagged her tail.
Behind the shops, next to a corner, was a pile of cardboard boxes. No one was there. As I looked closer, I saw something poking out from under a box. I pulled it out. It was a photo of Mr Smith with a small boy who looked just like him. He had the same eyes, and his curly golden hair made his face shine. This must be his missing son. I suddenly felt how lonely and heartbroken Mr Smith must have been.
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Then there was a loud noise around the corner. Smart dashed off and I ran after her. Two men were struggling on the ground. I was scared and reached for my phone to call the police, but someone had already called them.
Then I saw who was holding the other man down. It was Mr Smith!
"This is the man who took my son!" he shouted. "I lived on the streets for three years, dressed like this, to find him. Where is my boy?"
The police arrived and took the man away. That evening, the police found Mr Smith's son, safe and well.
The next morning, every newspaper in our city had the same headline: "Three-Year Search Ends: Brave Father Brings His Son Home!" On the front page was a photo of Mr Smith hugging his little boy. I smiled so big that my cheeks hurt, and Smart got the longest game of fetch of her life.
The End