One Dog. One Window. One Choice That Changed Everything. (2 of 4)

A phone number scrawled underneath.

I dialed, my voice shaking. “Your dog is in distress. She’s overheating. You need to come back right now.”

A sigh on the other end. “She’ll be fine. I left her water. Mind your business.”

I glanced at the sealed plastic bottle on the front seat. “She can’t drink from that. She’s in danger.”

“Ten minutes. Don’t touch the car.” Then the line went dead.

When Ten Minutes Was Too Long

I stood there, phone in hand, trembling. People glanced, frowned, whispered—but kept walking. One woman muttered, “Poor dog,” then turned away.

Something inside me snapped.

I spotted a rock near the curb, heavy and jagged. My heart raced, but my hands didn’t hesitate.

CRASH.

The window exploded into shards. The alarm screamed. I reached in, unlocked the door, and lifted her out. Her body sagged against me, fur damp, breath ragged.

I poured water over her head, trickled some into her mouth. Her tail gave the faintest twitch, and I nearly cried with relief.