Hank loves to ride in the car.
Usually he sticks his nose out the window and sniffs at the world passing by. He barks at every truck, whines at every change of scenery, chews up all of my plastic water bottles, and bounces around like a dog who loves to join his pals on any sort of adventure. The car is a happy place for him. But that morning, after we took a long, slow walk around the neighborhood, Hank climbed into the cab of the truck, curled up as best he could on the cramped bench seat, and put his head on my lap. Ore. He knew right away that something was wrong.