Maya gave the rabbit a gentle shake. The dog stopped thrashing and stared, every muscle tense. Holding her breath, Maya tossed the stuffed animal near its paws. Instantly, the dog pounced, seizing the toy and shaking it fiercely. Fluffy stuffing flew through the air. While the animal was distracted, Maya used the rake to lift the caught harness from the fence post. The strap slipped free, but before she could celebrate, she realized the dog’s leg was still awkwardly jammed through the fence slats.
The animal whined, trying to pull away, but it couldn’t. The sky grew darker, rain hammering down harder. Maya stared through the window, her hope unraveling as quickly as the toy rabbit in the dog’s mouth. The plan hadn’t worked. Frustration and worry battled inside her. The dog needed real help, and she was running out of ideas—and time.
Outside, the wind lashed the windows. Maya paced the kitchen, wringing her hands, heart tight in her chest. Her gaze darted to the fridge—Sunday’s steak, still in its butcher’s paper. A new plan struck her: bait the dog with the meat, buy herself a few precious seconds to work. Moving fast, she wrapped the steak in foil, slipped into her poncho and rain boots, and steeled herself. With her gloves on and the plate in hand, she plunged back out into the storm.
She approached the fence, keeping low. The rain was blinding, the mud cold and slick beneath her boots. “Here,” she called softly, tossing the steak near the dog’s snout. Instantly, it lunged for the meat, snapping it up with desperate hunger. Maya seized her chance: she wedged her foot for balance, pried the fence slats apart, and, with slow precision, freed the trapped leg.