The Watchful Hound
The old dog was no one’s fool. He watched the men with their hands outstretched, offering food. There was a trick here, or a trap. He slunk away, aware that they might try to move around and come at him by force. No chance. They must think he was a week-old pup, willing to trust anyone and everyone. Not him. His eyes glared at the men, looking through their souls.
One of the men held out a hand, inviting trust. “Here boy, not gonna hurt you.”
The dog growled, bared its teeth. He wasn’t buying that, or any other lies.
The dog set off in a loping run, keeping clear of the men and their twisted, untrustworthy ways.