The journey was meant to be brief. Get a snack, fill up with gas, and resume your journey. To be honest, I didn’t even want to stop in that dusty tiny town halfway through the twelve-hour drive to assist my sister with her transfer.
The only gas station nearby was a dilapidated hut with a single functioning pump and a crooked sign, and the vehicle was running on fumes.
I could hear it—a faint yipping sound—from nearby as I was filling up. I assumed that there was a dog in the car. However, there was nothing there when I looked around. Just a broken-down old ATV sitting in the weeds and vacant fields.
I saw the bed of a beaten-up pickup parked across the lot at that point. I approached and looked inside.
They were there. A bunch of puppies. Shivering and filthy, some of them huddled on top of one another while others crawled around, wailing for assistance. No mother in sight. Not even a human.
I initially stood motionless, attempting to understand what in the world I was meant to do. Would someone return to get them? Were they abandoned?
After observing me gazing inside the truck bed, the gas station employee walked outside and said something that chilled me to the bone:
“You’re not the first person in this area to find a load like that.”
