I was walking my dog, it was getting dark. And he got stuck under a bush and stood there.
I pulled him and called him. In the end, I had to pick him up and carry him away.
I scolded him on the way, saying how stubborn he was.
When we got to the entrance, it suddenly dawned on me.
I ran back to that bush, because something about the way he froze there—it wasn’t like him.
I know, sounds silly. But my dog, Rufus, has this weird sixth sense. He doesn’t bark at squirrels, but he once growled at a guy who later turned out to be a burglar. He’s gentle, but not passive. That moment under the bush, he wasn’t just being difficult. He was trying to tell me something.
So I jogged back, my heart pounding a little faster than it should. The street was mostly empty. Porch lights were on, but no one was around.
