His nails scraped once against the worn hardwood. His hips swung sideways. For one strange second he seemed to catch himself, standing crooked in the middle of the room with his gray muzzle lifted toward the young man in the doorway.
Then he made a sound Evan Miller had never heard from him before.
It wasn’t a bark.
It wasn’t quite a whine either.
It was softer than that, almost breathless, as if something Buddy had been holding inside for a very long time had finally slipped loose.
Evan dropped the small duffel bag he was carrying.
“Buddy?”
The dog tried to take one more step.
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