Her eyes landed on the porch closet. The rake. It had the right length and grip. She could stand back, stay out of harm’s way. Her body leaned forward, already preparing to rise—but a sudden hesitation anchored her again. A long pole. A distressed dog. Not a good mix.
To the dog, it would look like a weapon. A threat. The same kind of object someone might use to drive it away. Maya froze mid-step, doubt flooding back. Her jaw clenched. “Ugh! I don’t know what to do!” she muttered aloud, frustration and worry catching in her throat.
She paced the living room slowly, scanning every corner, searching for something —anything— that might calm the dog down a bit. Then her eyes landed on the old glass cabinet. Inside, behind a row of trinkets, sat a faded stuffed rabbit. A childhood toy that hadn’t been touched in years.
It belonged to her granddaughter, who used to bring it everywhere—on walks, during naps, tucked in her arm at all times. Maya moved toward the cabinet with a new purpose, opened it, and carefully lifted the plushie from its resting place. The fabric was soft, worn, and familiar in her hands.