“Flotsam” by David Fickett

The belly of the dog was swollen and wet. Wrapped in seaweed and ocean foam, peppered with pink sponge and black refuse. The things that washed up on the shore. You could never tell what you might find. It looked like a setter. Reddish-brown fur, matted to its fat body in patches where the skin hadn't torn from the bone. William bent down to look. No smell of decay, only the smell of the sea. He poked at it with a long stick. No tags. He looked closer.

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