Spot woke up in a mass grave: a pile of discarded, euthanized dogs, undergoing various stages of decomposition. Panicked, he rolled over and attempted to stand, but his four legs were still recovering, wobbling beneath his frame. His blurred vision scanned the heap of lifeless eyes and exposed tissue from which maggots emerged and scurried across matted fur. These images wobbled, much like his legs, and for a moment Spot thought he may die all over again. When his sensory systems steadied, he descended from the tower of canine corpses, and walked in the direction of home. The grave was located behind Creekside Veterinary Clinic, which he had gone to only twice before he was sent to his death. Despite its unfamiliarity, something instinctive lead him down the road toward where his Masters resided. He passed familiar landmarks that assured him of his direction: his favorite hydrant on 4th street, the street he walked his Masters down on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and the dog on Souder Pike who barked about conspiracies regarding the Purring Ones convincing Masters to lead all dogs to needle-death. Spot knew the dog’s ramblings resulted from his foaming mouth, but the memory made him wonder what inspired his Masters sudden decision to kill him? He had not relieved himself on the carpet in nearly thirty sun settings and that last time was only because the Masters had left him for many hours without a way to reach the yard. He pondered other possibilities as he sniffed the trees along the edge of the road. The number of passing headlights were few, so Spot deducted that it was near Dawn when he finally reached the familiar scent of his Masters’ mailbox. He walked hurriedly to the porch but paused before scratching on the door. There was a reason they abandoned me, he thought. What if I am only re-sentencing myself to death by showing them I’m alive? He shook his head and followed his tail in endless circles before deciding to howl and scratch to alert his Masters of his homecoming.

It took only a few minutes before the Female Master answered his cries. Spot barked at the site of her and wagged his tail, nearly salivating on his own front paws. The Female Master looked bewildered and called to the Male Master in foreign tongue. Spot did not recognize any of the words exchanged between them but his fur stood high as he judged their forlorn demeanor. They are not pleased I am here, he thought. Spot considered running but was frozen with hope that their faces would crack and the Female would scoop him up while the Male praised, “Good Boy!” The Female did scoop him up but it was a gesture absent caution, and her tight squeeze felt uncomfortable around Spot’s small frame. Spot noticed several boxes around the house that replaced furniture. The couch was missing. The tables and walls were bare. The changes frightened him and he shook under the pressure of the Female’s arms. The Masters forced him into the Transport Cage, the one that has carried him to the park and to the vet but would most certainly return him to the latter this night. Spot whimpered but the Masters ignored these cries. An engine revved and Spot could see through the bars of his cage that headlights illuminated the shadowed streets. The car was soon in motion and Spot collapsed onto the floor of his prison so he would not get sick from the jerking movements.

The Masters didn’t speak to one another but seemed distracted as they drove past many signs that Spot knew they normally stopped at. A car honked during one of these passings and the Male Master turned around in his seat to project a single finger from his hand in the direction of the back glass. The Female screamed before the actual impact. While the Male was focused on the car’s rear, another car had appeared from the left, moving fast, and crashed into the side of the Master’s vehicle with such force that Spot swore he had turned completely upside down and was now laying uncomfortably on the inside of the cage’s roof. He whimpered in pain as he tried to stand and make sense of what happened. The car was now still, as were the bodies of his Masters. The Female’s head had broken through the side-glass and was now awkwardly hanging outside the door with her neck hooked at an unnatural angle. The Male was wedged between parts of his own car and parts of the intruding car. Spot could not make out the Male’s left paw and feared it had been torn from his body during impact. The door to Spot’s cage had unhinged during the chaos and so he limped out into the wreckage and gave a single lick to each of his Masters’ cheeks before hopping out a broken window and onto the street. He paused by the smoking vehicles, expecting the squeal of sirens but none came. Nothing moved in these silent moments before sunrise and it was not until the first hint of light touched the sky that Spot began a new trek in the direction toward

Dawn.