I was getting a glass of water out of my fridge when my bratty two-year-old black lab mix was whining at my front door. “What is it now, Guinness?” I muttered under my breath. I took a sip of water as he looked at me with his warm light brown eyes and he let out another loud high pitched whine. “Fine I’ll freaking take you outside” I almost screamed at him. Upon hearing the magical word “outside” he perked up and began wagging his tail in excitement. It was time for fetch and he was ready to play. I grabbed my smokes and his tennis ball and opened my front door, but something wasn’t right. There was a white truck in front of my house that didn’t belong, and two guys were pushing something out of it.

It took what felt like an hour for me to register what was going on. There was a white truck and there were two men shoving a half-starved, full-grown, and bloody pit bull out of it. I panicked two things raced through my mind this thing is going kill my dog and these guys need to pay for what they have done. My hands were shaking as I was trying to figure out where my dog went all while I was memorizing their license plate number. I looked next to me behind me, and he was nowhere to be found. WTT–WTT, ok. What were the numbers? Nine-something. Nine two, I think? White Chevy truck. Where is my dog? My thoughts were racing everywhere and then everything went blank. My dog, my sweet little runt of a dog, was running up to this bloody, starving, mess of a pit bull. Now I have always imagined my dogs with accents. Guinness has this regal British accent in my head and in that moment, and I have no idea why, I heard him go up to this dog and say “Why hello there dear old chap looks like you’re having a kind of a bad day?” The other dog just snapped his head toward him he is going to kill my dog, I know it. I am no longer in shock and I started running toward them, but a strange thing happens the pit bull started licking Guinness. He doesn’t at…

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