Every morning, I’d head out to check the garden and come back fuming. Nibbled carrots. Uprooted lettuce. A bean vine chewed clean in half. I’d even installed a motion-activated light and a little trail cam, convinced that if I caught the sly thief in the act, I could scare it off for good. I was ready for raccoons, foxes, even a hungry deer. What I wasn’t ready for—what I never imagined—was that the truth would break my heart and rebuild it all in the same breath.

It all started with Runa not showing up for breakfast.

Now, Runa’s not your typical clingy mutt. She’s got some shepherd in her blood, but it’s always been her spirit that stood out—independent, headstrong, and just a little bit wild. She used to curl up under my porch when she was a pup and refuse to come in even when the rain came down in sheets. After her last litter didn’t make it, she changed. She stopped playing fetch, stopped chasing shadows across the field. Mostly, she just slept. She’d spend nights in the barn sometimes, lying in silence, as if the world outside had nothing left to offer.