Rover knew he shouldn’t have sneaked into the shed. She’d always said “bad dog,” but he couldn’t resist the open door. Then it slammed shut and never opened again. His paws bled from frantic scratching but he couldn’t stop. He was certain she would come back. He had heard her calling his name, but she stopped a long time ago.
A low grumble escaped as his stomach cramped from lack of food. Worse was the grit that coated his tongue. Although rain battered the door, none of it trickled inside. He wedged his face in the crack beneath the door, panting.