“That’s the thing, Mom,” said Neil excitedly, “it’s—”

As if on cue, the bundle twisted, and a high-pitched whine came out of it. Brandon was shocked. Somehow, the thing in the bundle being alive was as gross as it being dead.

“What the …” Dad jogged back to their towels and returned with his pocketknife. He knelt down and cut away slowly and carefully at the ropes. The dog shook and whimpered, but Dad said, “Easy, easy there …”

Finally, when the ropes were mostly free, Dad cut a hole in the canvas. Then he yanked the edges aside, ripping the wet material to reveal …

“Why, look at this good boy!” said Dad.

He was a beautiful German shepherd, muscular and regal but with a gentle face and kind eyes. Brandon would’ve thought a dog in this situation would be panicking, but this one just gave Dad a lick on the face and nuzzled his chin. Dad sat back and laughed, and one by one all the rest of the family did, too.

“He’s really handsome,” said Mom. “How could somebody do this to such a gorgeous animal?”

The dog came over to Brandon and looked up at him with what he could swear was a smile. Brandon laughed and knelt in front of the dog, scratching his face and ears. He didn’t know why, but he liked the animal instantly. There was something really perfect about him—maybe the look in his eyes, or the way his fur felt beneath Brandon’s fingertips. Whatever it was, he suddenly felt like this dog understood him, like they were instant pals. He’d needed a friend since Neil had turned twelve and started acting like Brandon wasn’t cool enough to hang out.

“Any sign of tags?” asked Dad. “I wonder what his name is.”

The dog looked Brandon in the eyes.

Rover.

“How do you know?” asked Neil.

Brandon blinked, confused. “What?”

“You just said his name was Rover, you dingus,” said Neil, rolling his eyes. “How do you know?”

Had Brandon said that out loud? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that the name had popped into his head, and now he couldn’t imagine calling the dog anything else.

“He just looks like a Rover, that’s all,” said Brandon. “Don’t you, boy?” The German shepherd licked his face, and he laughed.

“Well, let’s not go giving him a name quite yet,” said Mom. “This dog probably belongs to someone. Even if they did”—she looked at the rope and shredded canvas duffel bag—“treat him like this.”

Dad picked up the shredded duffel bag and found a label inside. “They wrote their name on the tag,” he said. “Tanner. I bet they live around here. Let’s see if we can look them up online and pay them a visit. I’d like to know what they’re thinking, treating a poor, helpless puppy like this.”