I knew the odds were crazy long. I knew I was nuts.

And yet.

I went out, day after day, searching for her.

six

There’d been six of us in the litter. So why was I only looking for her?

Because it was her bark I’d heard.

After the box landed. Even after the truck roared past.

I heard it. A whimper-bark-howl-cry, something I’ve never heard since.

She survived, at least at first.

I survived.

The rest of them didn’t.

relieved

And what did I do, when I heard that bark? Did I run toward it? Did I try to find her, to save her?

No.

No.

I was just a few weeks old. Helpless. Useless.

The cries stopped almost as soon as they’d started. And you know what?

Part of me was relieved.

I didn’t want to have to go back onto that highway. I couldn’t bear wanting to rescue her and not knowing how.

I didn’t want to see her die.

But mostly, I was afraid.

coward

I was afraid. A coward.

There’s a certain freedom that comes with owning your faults.

the wind

Every day I went looking for Boss. Up and down that same barren stretch of highway.

Sometimes I’d catch a hint of something hopeful on the air and think it was my sister’s scent. I’d be certain the breeze had brought me her voice, like an invisible gift.

The wind can really mess with your head.

enough

After a while I stopped going to the highway.

Stopped looking.

It was a relief to give up. I had enough to worry about.

my paddles

As I run from the park, I keep hearing my sister’s yelp in my head. Still, with every step, my doubts grow.

Sometimes we hear what we want to hear.

The animal shelter is close, just down the street, but there’s nothing quick about the trip. Water rushes past like a raging river. The sun’s been swallowed by black clouds.

I pick my way through muddy front yards, avoiding the worst of the water.

I ain’t much of a swimmer. Doesn’t come up much in my line of work, though I do a passable dog paddle.

The problem is my paddles. My paws are tiny. Not much to work with when you’re fighting a flood.

I see a couple humans with flashlights, carving tunnels in the sheeting rain. But mostly the street seems eerily abandoned, especially after the chaos of the park.

The shelter is at the bottom of a slight hill. Rain’s pooled outside the front door, despite a pile of sodden sandbags. A police car is out front, parked at an odd angle.

I find some footing on a large rock near the door. Takes me three slippery tries, but I manage to leap onto the topmost sandbag.