A small French bulldog sits in the middle of the road, staring up at me with big, wide eyes with the bumper of the truck mere inches from going right over him.
“Shit.” I scrub my hands across my stubbled cheeks. “Where the hell did you come from?”
I scan the woods on either side and the mountain towering behind him. There aren’t any houses for dozens of miles, and I don’t recognize the dog, which is odd since I know all the dogs in town.
He trembles violently, keeping his gaze locked on me.
I take a cautious step forward, and the dog flinches.
Crap.
If I’m not careful, I’ll scare him off, and he might end up lost in the woods or worse.
I hold up my hands and slowly squat. “Hey, buddy. Where’d you come from?”
The pup tilts his head slightly, making the black patch covering his left eye shift over his wrinkled muzzle. Considering how white the rest of his fur is, he can’t have been out here for very long. If he were out in the underbrush for any amount of time, he would be filthy by now.
I scan the darkness again, squinting for any hints of light from the pitch-black that surrounds us. “Where’s your mom or dad?”
He continues to stare at me.
Interested.
But not barking.
Not snapping.
He doesn’t display any signs of aggression.
That’s a good sign…
I inch closer, extending my hand, and he shifts away slightly. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. But you gotta get off the road.”
Almost everyone else left downtown hours ago, when the festival ended, except for me and a few others who volunteered to stay and clean up. So thankfully, there shouldn’t be too many people out here, but truckers use this route at all hours of the day and night. It’s only a matter of time before one comes barreling down this stretch and this tiny dog is no longer.
My chest aches at that thought, and I move closer still, risking my fingers as I reach for him, but he allows me to scratch under his chin as he sniffs me.
It’s now or never…
I take the opportunity to quickly scoop him up before he can bolt. He doesn’t fight it, just snuggles into my hold and lifts his head, licking my face.
“Well, aren’t you a sweet dog?” And very clearly someone’s pet, given the thin red collar. I check for a tag but don’t see one. “How did you get way out here?”
It’s a pretty decent drive out this far, and on his tiny legs, there’s no way he made it on his own.
I take a step toward the right side of the road where he came from and scan the darkness. “Hello?” My voice echoes through the otherwise silent night, but no response comes. I yell louder this time. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
Still nothing.
A light wind rustles the trees, and my engine rumbles on the road behind us, but there isn’t any sign of where he might have come from or how to get him back to his owner.
Hell.
“Well, big guy, it looks like you’re coming home with me tonight. We can go see Doc Lawson in the morning and see if you have a microchip. Try to find your owner.”
I scratch behind his ear, and he licks me again excitedly, as if he’s been alone and starved for attention for far too long. But he has clearly been well cared for, so he’s likely just enjoying the scratches.
Despite how awful I’ve felt all day, watching the people in McBride Mountain enjoy the festival while I spent my time watching them and waiting for eyes to drift my way filled with concern and question, a grin pulls at my lips.
