The dog limped, though his walk was so jerky that it was hard to tell which leg hurt the most. Maybe they were all bad. One ear was torn, and he had bald patches on his back from mange or fights or fleas. There was a look in his eye, though, that said he’d been through so much and more, but come out the other side. He was still here, wasn’t he? Still alive. He’d taken all the knocks and protected the pack.
They were safe, unharmed, because of him.