I woke to a strange dragging sound and found our back door shattered, with Oscar, our horse, standing on the patio, looking frantic. His paddock’s latch was still locked. As I investigated, I noticed movement by the tree line—a small child, huddled near a fallen log.

The child, Kendra, was around 9 or 10, with dirt on her face and hair. She had fled from her mother’s boyfriend and wandered two miles through the woods. Oscar must have sensed her distress and tried to lead me to her.

After calling the sheriff, I gave Kendra a peanut butter sandwich and water while they took her home. The sheriff recognized her name; she had run away before.

That day, as we replaced the door, I realized something important: despite the struggles in our lives, we might be doing more good than we realize. Oscar wasn’t just a pet—he was family.