Traffic was light, and she slowed instinctively, her gaze snagging on the scene. The blanket wasn’t spread loosely; it was balled up, pulled in around his chest. His body language was strange, less like it was resting and more like it was protecting. She frowned, then drove on.
Still, the image stuck. At her next stoplight, she glanced into the rearview mirror, expecting the dog to move, shake off the blanket, and wander away. But he didn’t. He stayed crouched in the ditch, shoulders hunched as though guarding something far more important than old cloth.