22 August 2026

The Stray Dog Sat Quietly in the Passenger Seat as I Promised Him, “It’s Just a Short Ride, Buddy”…

But hope has a way of borrowing from tomorrow without asking.

The decline, when it came, didn’t ask for permission either.

He stopped eating. First gradually, then completely. His breathing changed, shallow and uneven, like each inhale had to be negotiated. His body, once solid and dependable, became fragile in ways that didn’t seem possible.

And then came the moment I couldn’t ignore.

He stopped looking at me.

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