There’s a weird sound coming from outside my window, a steady crunch, crunch, crunch. What could it be? I think about getting up to investigate, but I’m too sleepy and warm to move.
The floorboards creak underneath my bed and I reach down to where my dog, Rufus, sleeps. He licks my hand and I smile; he always makes me feel safe at night.
“Good dog,” I whisper. Rufus keeps licking my hand, his doggy breath rasping until I fall asleep.
The next morning, the strange sound outside is still there. Crunch, crunch, crunch. I get out of bed and pull the blinds open. To my surprise, on the patio outside, Rufus sees me and whimpers in the chill air, a well-chewed lamb bone at his feet. If Rufus was outside all night . . . what was licking my hand?
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