I was driving down County Road 12 on a hectic morning when something caught my eye near the shoulder—a cluster of four
muddy, visibly shaking boxer puppies nestled close together beside a ditch. I was already running behind for an important
meeting and wasn’t in the mood for any delays, but I couldn’t bring myself to just keep going.There was no mother dog around, no nearby houses—just the puppies and a crumpled, half-fallen cardboard box.Without
thinking, I pulled over, grabbed an old hoodie from the back seat, and carefully bundled the trembling pups inside before
heading back home. Once there, I gave them a quick rinse and gently dried them off with towels.My next step was to scan for microchips and post about them in a local lost pet group. That’s when I noticed one of the puppies
wore a worn yellow collar. Tucked underneath was a small metal tag with a handwritten message that sent a chill through me:
“Not Yours.” Later that day, my friend Tate dropped by. He’s a vet tech and tends to notice things I wouldn’t.
