She sat down hard on the couch, caught between fear and guilt, her eyes glued to the rain-smeared window. The animal outside twisted against its harness, barking and whining, terrified as thunder cracked above. The word SERVICE DOG glared from its vest—this was no ordinary stray. There was no sign of an owner. The yard, the whole street, was deserted.
Maya’s heart hammered. She knew she couldn’t just leave it there, but she also knew a frightened dog could be dangerous. The moment she had approached earlier, the animal had snapped at her, eyes wild with fear. Alone and vulnerable, Maya hesitated. If she got bitten, there’d be no one to help her. She slumped in her chair, wind howling against the house, feeling the weight of responsibility. She looked out again, watching the dog shiver and bark, time running out before the real storm hit.
Desperation pushed Maya back onto her feet. She scoured the living room for something—anything—that could help. Her eyes landed on an old stuffed rabbit, faded and worn, hidden behind a row of trinkets in the glass cabinet. It was her granddaughter’s favorite once, still soft in Maya’s hands. A crazy idea flickered to life: maybe the toy could distract the dog. Maybe she could use it as a peace offering—long enough to slip the harness free.
Pulling on her coat and two pairs of gloves, Maya braced herself for the storm. She tucked the rabbit under her arm, grabbed the rake from the porch closet, and opened the door. The wind slapped her face as she stepped into the darkening yard, every instinct warning her to turn back, but she pressed on. With slow, careful steps, she approached the dog, holding out the rabbit like a treaty. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “I’m here to help.” The dog barked and lunged—but then its eyes locked on the toy.