That morning felt completely ordinary. The sky was gray and heavy, and I decided I had just enough time to trim the old apple tree before the rain arrived. Max, my dog, paced around the yard with an alertness I brushed off as clinginess. I set up the ladder, grabbed my tools, and felt good about finally tackling a chore I’d been avoiding.
When I placed my foot on the first rung, Max suddenly froze. His entire body went tense, and his eyes locked onto me with an intensity that didn’t match the quiet morning. I laughed it off and climbed higher—until I felt a fierce tug at my trouser leg. Max had clamped down hard, pulling with a desperation that startled me.
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