He tried not to think about the dog. But every curve in the road, every patch of wet mud, pulled his thoughts back to it. He pictured it still digging, paws raw, barking into the rain. He should’ve at least checked. Just a quick stop, five minutes tops.
When he reached the bend again, he slowed down instinctively. The sky had lightened slightly, a weak gray after the storm. The slide looked different now; wider, smoother, the rain having spread the mud into a solid slope.