Night of the Dog
Dave Lancaster saw the little dog as he took the off-ramp to Midway, Idaho. It stood hunched over something in the ditch, its shoulders tensing and relaxing, its head darting down over something he couldn’t see. He slowed from thirty-five to twenty-five just in case the little hairball decided to join the flow of traffic. Not that there was any traffic heading into Midway. Traffic on Highway 90 was sparse as evening edged toward twilight, but no one was visiting Midway.
The dog was a pug; flat face, stubby legs, corkscrew tail and bugging eyes, the butt-ugliest dog in the animal kingdom. Dave had never seen a pug that didn’t look like it had suffered severe brain damage. He had no idea how such a useless animal had made it this far out of town, and considered, brie
