The morning started quiet. Too quiet. I was halfway through my patrol on the forest road when I heard it. Soft paw steps. Persistent. Following me.
I turned.
A German Shepherd puppy stood in the middle of the dirt path. His fur was matted with mud. His tiny paws were scraped raw. He was trembling so hard I thought his legs might give out. But his eyes… his eyes were locked on me. Begging.
— You lost, buddy?
— I asked, crouching down.
He didn’t wag his tail. He didn’t come closer. He just stared. Then he took one step back. Then another.
Every time I walked, he followed. Every time I stopped, he froze. When I tried to pick him up, he pulled away. But when I tried to walk back to my cruiser, he darted in front of me. Blocking me. Herding me. His tiny body was shaking, but his focus was absolute.
Then he tugged my pant leg. Soft at first. Then harder. He barked once. Sharp. Urgent.
— What is it?
— I whispered.
He sprinted toward the tree line. Stopped. Looked back. Barked again. I followed.
The forest grew thick around us. The light faded. My radio crackled with nothing but static. He kept checking over his shoulder, making sure I was still behind him. His little chest was heaving. He was exhausted. But he wouldn’t stop.
