The paramedics arrived in under eight minutes, though it felt much longer.
A jogger who had heard Ethan yelling returned to wave them across the grass. A patrol car followed. Then another. The leaf pile, the bench, the walking path, and the simple autumn afternoon were suddenly full of people in uniforms asking sharp questions and moving with practiced urgency.
A paramedic named Holly knelt beside Ethan, took over the infant assessment, and immediately called for a warming setup in the ambulance. The baby was breathing, pulse present, skin cool but not blue. Female infant, maybe a few hours old, maybe less.
No obvious trauma. Umbilical cord cut crudely. Wrapped in two blankets, one hospital flannel, one homemade knit.
That detail landed somewhere in Ethan’s mind without sticking yet.
Ellie clung to his leg while a young officer coaxed her gently away from the immediate scene so the medics could work. Detective Morales, a compact woman in her forties with dark hair pulled tight at the nape of her neck and a voice built for people in shock, asked Ethan to repeat exactly what had happened. He pointed to the dog when he answered the crucial part.
“If that animal hadn’t stopped my daughter, she would have jumped right into the pile,” he said. “He was trying to keep her away from the baby. Or get us to the baby. Both, maybe.”
Morales glanced at the shepherd, who was now standing just outside the blur of paramedics and officers, hackles down, posture taut but controlled.
“Do you know the dog?” she asked.