Somewhere in the woods, Henry slept soundly in the shade of a white oak tree. The morning sun was still low in the sky, but the air was already hot and damp.
A red-speckled salamander scampered over the leaf-covered ground nearby, and Henry woke up. He yawned and stretched. His long, thin legs were scratched and matted with dried mud. The brown spot in the shape of Texas on his side was patchy with itchy bald spots.
His hip was throbbing, and his stomach rumbled with hunger. He made his way through the dense woods, weaving around the mountain laurel and sparkleberry bushes until he found the spot where he had left the small plastic bowl near the wrought-iron fence.
The bowl was gone.
Henry peered through the rhododendron bushes at the green lawn with the dogwood trees. He lay on the mossy ground and waited. Before long, he heard someone whistle and call for Henry. He lifted his head and stayed very still.
His heart pounded as he watched the thin, pale arm reach through the fence and push the plastic bowl under the rhododendron beside him.
The arm was sprinkled with freckles.
Then the arm disappeared, leaving the bowl on the ground nearby.
Henry leaped to his feet and gobbled up the pieces of ham and cold spaghetti and saltine crackers from the bowl.