A catch of metal, maybe. A handle? A piece of fencing? The thought made his stomach tighten. Maybe the dog wasn’t just tired. Maybe something down there had snared it; a nail, a wire, some buried scrap from the slide. That could explain why it hadn’t budged, why it stayed pinned in that unnatural stillness.
He tried feeling again, sliding his fingers lower until the dog let out a low growl; a strained, exhausted sound that seemed to say both stop and stay. Owen pulled his hand back slowly, mud trailing down his wrist.