I was driving along County Road 12, running late for an important meeting, when I spotted four shivering boxer puppies huddled in a ditch next to a collapsed box. Despite my hectic morning, I couldn’t just pass them by. With no mother or houses in sight, I pulled over.
I scooped up the muddy pups in an old hoodie and drove them straight home. After giving them a warm bath in the laundry sink, I planned to scan them for microchips and post their photos online.
That was when I noticed a dirty yellow collar on one of the puppies. Tucked under the clasp was a small, handwritten tag that sent a shiver down my spine. It simply read: “Not Yours.”
