Meg stood and slapped her thighs. “Come on, Banjo. Get up. You can come home with me.”
The dog blinked. Flies rose and circled and settled back down to drink again from its eyes.
Meg frowned. She’d never seen a dog so unresponsive. “I can’t carry you. Come on, now. Get up and follow me home. It’s not far.”
Maybe it was injured in a way she couldn’t see. A broken leg? She sighed. “Okay, listen. I’ll be back soon. I’m going for help.”
Molly sidestepped as Meg tried to get her foot in the stirrup. “It’s okay, girl,” she said softly.
She grabbed the pommel and swung up. She took a last look at the dog and hurried off. It wasn’t the first dog she’d come across in the woods, but it was the first one that wouldn’t even try to get up.
Thirty minutes later she dusted down the trail that led to a gravel road, where she nearly ran into a pickup truck.
Molly lunged sideways and almost sent Meg up and over her head.
The truck swerved off the road and slid to a stop.
Meg bent over Molly’s neck to calm her, though her own heart thundered from the scare. “Whoa, girl. It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Their neighbor Ben Carter poked his head out the window. “Meg Harris, I almost got you. Where you running off to?”
“Home. I need to get Dad.”
“Something wrong?”
“I found a dog.”
“Where?”
“Out there, way out.”
“Injured?”
“Can’t really tell. He won’t get up.”
“Is it wild?”
“No.”
“Whose is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t get near it if it’s sick. Could be rabid.”
“That’s why I’m getting Dad.”
“Better tell him to bring a sidearm case he’s got to put it out of its misery.”
Meg hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll tell him.”
“Slow down before you hurt somebody.”
As he drove off, Meg thought, The last thing I’m telling Dad is to bring his gun.