Her eyes landed on the porch closet. The rake. It had the right length and grip. She could stand back, stay out of harm’s way. Her body leaned forward, already preparing to rise—but a sudden hesitation anchored her again. A long pole. A distressed dog. Not a good mix.
To the dog, it would look like a weapon. A threat. The same kind of object someone might use to drive it away. Maya froze mid-step, doubt flooding back. Her jaw clenched. “Ugh! I don’t know what to do!” she muttered aloud, frustration and worry catching in her throat.