Every morning, just as the sun rose over the rooftops of Meadowbrook, a familiar sight made people pause on their way to work. A stray golden retriever with soft brown eyes and a gentle wag in his tail would trot along Maple Street, stopping in front of the same storm drain every single day.
No one knew where he came from, or why he did it—but he always stood at the edge of the metal grate, peering down into the shadows with a quiet, almost human concern in his eyes.
They called him Benny.
