GOOD SAMSON
SNOW COVERED EVERYTHING. In the still, silent morning, Edith carried a pail of kitchen scraps from the back door to the compost pile at the edge of the woods. The only noise in the waking world was the creak of the pail handle.
The heat of the compost had melted the snow from the pile, revealing the motley browns of last autumn’s leaves. Against this background, the dog’s brindle coat almost camouflaged it. The dog huddled on top of the pile. It raised its head, watching her as she approached.
Edith spotted the dog from about ten paces and froze in place. The dog returned her gaze, ears up, brow furrowed. Edith stepped backward.
The dog stood, revealing a star of white fur on its chest. Its head was
