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Zeev Buium says he would have his blades sharpened every shift he could. Every period seems fairly normal for NHL players… but every shift? 😅 Quinn Hutson on the other hand doesn’t seem too picky about them. 🎥:BAUER Hockey

18,025 views • 16 days ago •via X (Twitter)

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Roscoe had been waiting beside that front door every afternoon for almost nine years. He knew the sound of Frank Miller’s mail truck, the squeak of its brakes, and the two quick taps Frank always gave the brass mailbox before walking up the porch. Frank never hurried past the house, even on busy days. He would hand over the mail, scratch the boxer under the chin, and pull a broken dog biscuit from his jacket pocket. Roscoe usually heard him before anyone inside did. Then Frank’s route changed without warning. For the first few days, Roscoe still ran to the porch when another truck turned onto the street. He would sit up straight, watch the sidewalk, and wait for the familiar man in the faded blue cap. When someone else came up the path, his tail would slow and he would look past them toward the road. The new carrier, Teresa, had worked with Frank for years. She knew about the illness that had taken him off the route, and she knew he had died before getting the chance to say goodbye to many of the people he saw every week. She also knew about Roscoe. Frank had talked about the boxer at the little white house more than once. He called him his most dependable customer because Roscoe was waiting in every kind of weather, even when the mailbox was empty. Weeks passed, but the routine at the house never changed. Roscoe still took his place near the door each afternoon, and Teresa started noticing that he never watched her hands or the mail. His attention stayed on the street behind her. One day, she stopped before reaching the porch. Roscoe had been looking back through the glass door, but the sound of her steps made him turn quickly. Teresa walked closer and asked, “You were waiting for Frank again, weren’t you?” Roscoe stood and came toward her slowly. When she lowered herself beside him, he leaned his gray muzzle against her shoulder and stayed there. “I know, sweetheart,” she whispered as she rubbed his neck. “I miss him too.” After that, Roscoe still watched the road, but he also began meeting Teresa halfway down the porch. She never tried to replace Frank, and maybe that was why the dog eventually made room for her. Do you think Roscoe understood why Frank stopped coming, or was he still waiting for those same footsteps?

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