Instead of leaving at my usual time, I stayed behind and watched from a distance.
Eventually, the dog stood.
He stretched.
Then he started trotting toward the cemetery gates.
I followed him.
I still don’t completely know why.
Something inside me simply needed to know where he went.
I kept enough distance between us that he wouldn’t notice me.
At least, I hoped he wouldn’t.
He crossed the road outside the cemetery and continued along the sidewalk.
I expected him to wander.
He didn’t.
He moved with complete purpose.
He never hesitated at a turn.
He cut through streets I didn’t recognize, passed a shuttered gas station, and continued down a narrow alley behind a row of houses I had never had any reason to visit.
More than once, I considered turning around.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered.
I was a grown woman following a stray dog through unfamiliar streets on a Sunday afternoon.
