When I got closer, I realized what he was holding — a small German Shepherd puppy, injured and barely moving. The biker’s rough hands trembled as he whispered soft words, the kind you’d say to a child having a bad dream. He told me he’d found her on the side of the road after someone had hit her and driven away. “She was crying,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t just ride past.” In that moment, every idea I’d ever had about “tough men” vanished. Compassion doesn’t always wear a suit — sometimes, it wears leather and rides a Harley.