Not panicked.
Not wild.
Focused.
Like it was begging me to understand. Then it did something that changed everything. It ran to the veteran’s side pouch, grabbed a small case in its mouth, and dropped it right in front of me. Inside was a syringe. And a label.
Epinephrine.
“Oh my God,” I breathed. “He’s going into shock.”
The realization hit all at once.
“This dog wasn’t attacking,” I said, my voice rising. “It was trying to get this!”
The store went dead silent.
Even the manager froze, the broom still in his hands.
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