I was driving along County Road 12 on a hectic morning when I noticed something unexpected by the side of the road—a small group of four boxer puppies, muddied and shivering like fragile leaves in the wind, huddled near a ditch. I had no plans to stop; I was already behind schedule for an important customer meeting and had endured a trying morning. Yet, when I saw them, I couldn’t just drive past. There was no sign of a mother dog or any nearby dwelling—only the puppies and a battered, half-collapsed box lying in the grass. Without a second thought, I pulled over.
I scooped up the trembling puppies using an old hoodie I had in the car and quickly made a call. I decided to bring them home immediately. After a brief bath in the laundry sink and drying them off on a stack of towels, I planned to scan them for microchips and post their pictures on a local lost pets group. It was then that I noticed one of the puppies sported a yellow collar. Despite its dirt-stained appearance, the collar held a small, handwritten tag tucked under the clasp. The tag, with only the words “Not Yours” scrawled on it, sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.
