Her logical side dismissed it—just a stray making do with trash. But another thought gnawed at her. Why would a dog cling so tightly to fabric, dragging it under his chest like treasure? She shook her head, turned the corner, and kept driving.
At work, numbers and emails filled her screen, but concentration proved slippery. Her mind wandered inexplicably back, again and again, to the scrappy figure in the ditch. The folds of the blanket had seemed too neat, too deliberate. It looked like the work of human hands.
Colleagues bustled around, laughter rising from the breakroom, but she remained distant, unsettled. She reminded herself she’d seen people abandon clothes, toys, and even mattresses on the roadside. Nothing unusual. And yet, her stomach twisted at the memory of that dog’s desperate crouch.
By lunch, she couldn’t resist pulling out her phone, absently searching local animal shelters. She wondered if anyone had reported a missing pet. The act calmed her slightly, but did little to shake the feeling that she’d overlooked something urgent.
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