He parked on the shoulder and stepped out. The air was thick with that post-rain scent, a mix of soil and something faintly metallic. The dog was still there. Not digging this time. Not moving at all. Its back was coated in mud, its tail stiff and unmoving. Only the faintest motion of its head told him it was still alive.
Owen’s chest tightened. “Oh, no…” he murmured, wading closer. The ground sucked at his boots, each step heavy. “Hey,” he called softly, voice unsure. “Hey, boy…” The dog’s ears twitched, but it didn’t turn. It was half-buried now, one paw completely submerged, its chest pressed flat against the earth.