Part 1: The Morning My Dog Wouldn’t Stop Scratching at the Door

the air smelling of wet leaves and earth. Baxter ran ahead, stopping every few steps to make sure I was still behind him.

I didn’t question why I was following.

I just knew I had to.

“Where are you taking me?” I called, my voice cracking.

He led me across the lot, past overgrown weeds and rusted tools, straight toward an old shed at the far edge of the continue reading …