“Hey, buddy!” he called out. Its head jerked once toward him, then back to the earth. The sound it made wasn’t barking; it was pleading, rhythmic and hoarse. For a second, Owen considered pulling over properly, stepping out, and seeing what was wrong. But the mud looked treacherous, slick as oil, and he still had a package to deliver.
If he stopped now, he’d only end up covered in muck and be late for his drop-off. He sighed. “I’ll check on you when I head back,” he muttered under his breath, rolling the window up. The dog’s shape disappeared behind the curtain of rain as he drove off.