I Called the Cops on the Biker When I Saw What He Was Burying

“Her name was Daisy,” he said.

The way he said it, I knew. Before he said another word, I knew.

He bent down and pulled back a corner of the blanket. And there in the early light I saw fur. Brown and white fur, gone gray around the muzzle. A dog. An old dog, lying still in a blanket, with a collar still on her neck.

I felt the air go out of me all at once.

“She was sixteen,” he said. “I had her since she was six weeks old.”