22
“Loving Georgia was never a choice; it was a privilege, so ingrained in me that it came as naturally as breathing.” —Wyatt Gates
My truck sits idle. The heater blows warm air into the cab on this chilly spring morning. I’ve been here in this same spot for over an hour now. There’s a little dog in my lap, resting his face into the crook of my neck. He’s no longer shaking.
I found this little beagle mix this morning, huddled in the corner of an alleyway, skinny and alone with tears leaking from his eyes. Some don’t believe that dogs cry, but they do. I’ve seen it many times. I couldn’t put him in the crate in the back of my truck. I knew he was scared, so I held him. I’m still holding him.
He’s been neglected and abandoned, and it’s clear that he’s terrified. I want him to know that h
