It all started on a gloomy Tuesday afternoon. The sky was a patchwork of angry clouds, and the rain poured down in relentless sheets. As we drove home from an uneventful trip to the store, we spotted something on the side of the road—a small, shivering bundle of fur. At first, it was hard to tell if it was even alive. It was so still, curled into a tight ball against the relentless downpour. We slowed the car, exchanged a glance, and decided to stop.
The puppy was soaked to the bone and trembling violently. His brown eyes, wide with fear, darted between us as if trying to gauge whether we were a threat. He looked so small, like he barely took up any space in the universe. Dirt clung to his fur, which was matted in places, and his ribs were alarmingly visible. It was clear he hadn’t known kindness in quite some time—if ever. When I reached out my hand, he flinched, pressing himself closer to the wet earth.
“Hey, buddy,” I whispered softly, crouching low to appear less intimidating. “It’s okay. We’re here to help.” My partner, holding an umbrella over both of us, pulled out a small packet of beef jerky from their pocket. The puppy hesitated, sniffed the air, and inched forward ever so slightly. That was all the encouragement we needed.
Scooping him up wasn’t easy.
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