I hurried after him.
“Where are you going?” I whispered.
Of course, he didn’t answer.
Nearly 20 minutes later, he stopped in front of a small, run-down house at the very end of a dead-end street.
He scratched twice at the front door.
Then he sat down and waited.
I stopped near the sidewalk.
My heartbeat had quickened.
The house was narrow and weathered.
One shutter hung crooked.
The porch steps were cracked along the edges.
Yet the dog looked completely comfortable.
Almost as though he had done this many times before.
For a moment, I almost walked away.
Whatever mystery I had created in my mind suddenly felt intrusive.
Maybe the dog belonged to an elderly person.
Maybe someone simply let him roam.
Maybe there was nothing unusual about any of it.
Then I heardmovement inside.
A floorboard creaked.
The dog stood.
My stomach tightened for reasons I couldn’t explain.
