There are people you meet who don’t seek recognition. People who just see a need — and help. Andy, who works at the Lowe’s in Wilkesboro, NC, is one of those people, and his story doesn’t need loud headlines. It needs to be remembered.
A few weeks back, my best friend Lolly and I were facing a little problem: Baxter, our rescue pup, needed extra support in a wheelchair cart. The third wheel idea had been floating around — something to keep him from tipping backward — but we weren’t entirely sure how to pull it off. We sketched ideas, debated materials, and before long decided we needed someone who could think outside the usual hardware-box.
So we went to Lowe’s and spoke to the project desk. We asked if there was someone who could help us plan this safely, cheaply, and well. That’s when Andy was summoned.
From the moment he joined us, everything changed. He didn’t treat us like inconvenienced customers. He sat right down on the cold floor of the hardware aisle, pulled out parts, asked us questions about Baxter’s weight, how much tilt we could allow, how big the third wheel should be, whether noise would matter, if there were safety risks. He thought through durability, cost, comfort. He helped us assemble a list of parts that wouldn’t drain our budget — in fact, the total came to about five dollars. But the true cost? It was far more than that in patience, compassion, ingenuity, and time.
We left Lowe’s not just with parts, but with a roadmap. The plan: install a small, supportive wheel at the back, adjust the frame to ensure balance, add padding to prevent rubbing, reinforce the attachment so Baxter could move freely without tipping or discomfort.
A few days later, after visiting the vet, we returned to Lowe’s to show Andy the finished cart. We were nervous — would it work the way we hoped? When we walked in, Andy was at the project desk. As soon as he saw Baxter, everything changed. His face lit up. He dropped to the floor again, just to get a better look. Introduced himself properly — to Baxter. Took in all the tweaks. Asked questions: “How is he doing on walks?” “Any rubbing or discomfort?” “Is the wheel stable enough when he turns?” He listened to our answers. He smiled.
Then he gave Baxter his “official seal of approval.” That’s not a real certification, but in that moment, it might as well have been. It was pure validation—the kind that comes when someone invests their time from the heart, not the job description.
Before leaving, I asked to speak with the store manager. I told him how much Andy’s help meant. Yes, it was his job to assist customers — but what he did went well beyond that. His kindness, creativity, patience — these are rare. The manager nodded, said they would ensure the story reaches corporate. Because employees like Andy aren’t just assets — they become reasons people believe in small acts of goodness.
Andy didn’t expect accolades. As we said goodbye, he gave both me and Lolly big hugs. He smiled wide. He said he and his wife would be happy to dog-sit Baxter anytime. Just because.
Lolly later said, “Andy’s reaction made my heart smile.” Mine did too.
In a world full of rushing, of deadlines, of short customer interactions — this stood out. Because sometimes what matters isn’t the grand gesture: it’s simply caring. Sitting down. Listening. Making something work. Being human.
So if you ever find yourself in Wilkesboro, NC, stop by Lowe’s. Find Andy. Shake his hand. Tell him thank you — not just from us, but from every animal lover, every rescue parent, and everyone who believes kindness still changes lives.
Because in the end, this little project cart—this five-dollar idea—wore something bigger: love.