Buddy winced, his empty belly squeezing against his spine. Mud crusted his black and white fur, drying in stiff patches along his long puppy legs until they looked dipped in ink. One floppy ear hung black, the other white, both streaked red from old blood.

The scent of food drifted through the trees and tugged at him. He followed it to the end of a tan fence, crouched low, and eased his head around the corner. His eyes flicked to the back door of a large building where another dog stood, its face buried in a pile of scraps.

Drool slipped from Buddy’s mouth and stretched toward the dirt. For an instant, he was beneath the kitchen table again. Leslie’s hand disappeared under the edge with a piece of barbecue. Her laughter rang out as he licked the sticky sauce from her fingers.

His belly cramped again.