It was my usual jog through the park trail, headphones in, mind drifting. That’s when I saw him—an older man with a long white beard, dragging a little cart behind him. In it was a dog—gray-faced, stiff, barely moving. Another younger dog trotted beside them.
At first I smiled, kind of touched. But then I stopped.
The old dog didn’t even lift its head. It just lay there on a cushion like it hadn’t stood in days. And I don’t know why, but I blurted out,
“Why not let him go? I mean… isn’t he suffering?”
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