Pandemic Drabble, II

HouseMate, her Other Son (not the one who lives here), and I met up for our second "write a short apocalyptic piece set in this pandemic" in the backyard this evening. 
We read aloud--it surprises me how enjoyable it is. Enjoyment is a movable feast, perhaps.

I don't write fiction and had NO idea where to go after my first piece, "The Last of Master, I", but this morning, an idea appeared.
Pressure helps, and the 100-words (more or less) drabble is a good (doable) form for this beginner.

This episode is 108 words.

"The Last of Master", Part II

The girl looked closer at the small body in the gutter.

Odd the dog still wore his collar. By now, most collars had strangled their owners or slipped off their shrunken necks.

Whatever this dog suffered from, it wasn’t hunger.

Dog stew tonight, the girl thought, pulling her baseball bat from its Velcro holster.

But . . .  this dog. Wasn't he the kind that killed rodents? Probably why he was plump.

A living hunter could provide more than an evening’s meal.

She scrunched her empty backpack half-under the dog and dragged him onto it. 
The blood left on the street didn’t seem much.

“You might make it,” she said, hoisting him up. “You look scrappy.”

❧  ❧  ❧

(Now I want to know what happens next. I have no idea!)