I returned home the next afternoon.
My muscles still ached beneath the soft gray sweatpants and oversized hoodie Locke dressed me in before we left the hospital.
Before I can even cross the foyer, a frantic pitter-patter of tiny paws echoes across the floorboards.
A blurred shape of black, tan, and soft fur comes barreling around the kitchen island, skidding wildly on the smooth wood before scrambling straight toward us. It’s a German Shepherd puppy – no more than a few weeks old – with oversized, floppy ears that bounce with every step and massive paws that it hasn’t remotely grown into yet.
It stops right at my feet, little tail wagging so hard its entire back half wiggles, letting out a sharp, high-pitched yip of pure delight before flopping right onto its back, exposing its pink b
