Emily picked up her dog’s poop, then placed the baggie in a larger paper bag.
“Good girl, Tasha. One quick stop at the store, and then we can go home.”
Shivering in the winter night, she and her Afghan hurried up to the 7-Eleven. Near the store’s entrance, Emily wound Tasha’s leash around the bicycle rack as rap music pounded from an approaching car.
Headlights shone on Emily and Tasha. Emily put the bag down and glanced at two young-looking guys in a Honda Civic. The passenger raised a beer bottle to his lips. Neither of them stepped out of the car.
Inside, Emily paid for milk and bread, just as Tasha began to bark frantically. Emily froze. Her dog didn’t behave this way unless she felt threatened, and strangers who came too close threatened Tasha. Oh, God . . .
Emily darted out of the store, relieved to see Tasha sitting quietly, her eyes focused on the Honda peeling out of the lot.
“It’s okay, girl.” Emily stroked Tasha’s long silky coat.
She untied the leash and bent down to retrieve the paper bag, but the bag was gone.