Mary inches closer to the dog, palms open and movements slow.
“Easy, Ragnar. I’m not going to hurt him.”
Ragnar watches her carefully but doesn’t growl.
“He’s dehydrated. Malnourished,” she says quietly. “Probably mildly hypothermic too. And he almost definitely has parasites.”
She gently strokes the puppy’s head, and the tiny thing trembles beneath her touch.
“But Ragnar probably saved his life.”
I kneel beside her.
Our shoulders brush.
“He found him,” I whisper. “He hid him. Fed him.”
Mary nods silently.
Ragnar slowly stands and steps aside just enough to let us approach.
A grumpy isolated sheep who hates everyone…
Secretly rescuing an abandoned dog.
“Maybe he’s not so different from me,” I murmur.
The words escape before I can stop them.
Mary turns toward me.
In the dim light, her eyes look enormous.
“Maybe none of us are who we pretend to be.”
Hamish walks into the building and settles quietly nearby.
For once, the two sheep don’t fight.
Mary keeps examining the puppy, slowly relaxing him beneath her expert hands while she checks his paws, eyes, and fragile ribs.
“We need to get him to the clinic,” she says finally. “Now.”
“I’ll carry him.”
I carefully reach for the tiny animal.
He looks terrified, but he’s too weak to resist.
When I lift him, he weighs almost nothing.
Just bones and dirty fur.
Mary rises and wipes her hands on her skirt.
“Finn… about Perthshire…”
She stops and glances at the dog in my arms.
