It was supposed to be a quick stop. Gas up, grab a snack, and get back on the road. I was halfway through a long drive to help my sister move, and I honestly didn’t even want to pull over in that quiet, dusty town. But my fuel gauge was nearly on empty, and the only station for miles was a small, weathered building with a single working pump and a sign hanging slightly askew in the breeze.
As I filled the tank, I heard a soft yipping sound. At first, I assumed someone nearby had their dog in the car. But when I looked around, there were no other customers—just empty fields stretching out on both sides and an old pickup truck parked off to the side. Curious, I walked closer and peered into the bed of the truck. What I saw stopped me in my tracks: a pile of tiny puppies, dirty and shivering, huddled together for warmth. Some were quietly curled up, while others crawled around, crying softly. There was no sign of their mother or an owner anywhere.