My voice comes out sharp, cracked open with frustration as my patience snaps. The dog reappears instantly, racing back to my side and dropping to the ground in front of me.
His body trembles, tail tucked tight beneath his legs like he’s bracing for punishment. A low, nervous whine escapes his throat as he looks up at me—wide-eyed, anxious, like he thinks I might hit him. The thought punches straight through my gut.
“I’m sorry, boy,” I murmur, forcing a smile. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
I brush bits of gravel and broken twigs from my skin and check the damage. Nothing major, just a few scrapes, some areas beginning to bruise. Still, I’ll probably have to skip shorts for a few days.
“What got into you?” I ask as he edges closer, pressing his muzzle gently to my injured leg.
The dog had seemed perfectly fine one minute, and then he went full chaos gremlin the next, tearing into the woods like something was after him… or he was after something.
But what?
No squirrel. No rabbit. There hadn’t beenanything in the woods with us. At least nothing I could see.
But then, the second I gave him a real command—not just yelled his name but actually told him tostop—he’d listened. Came right back to me, just like that day at Hayes’s house.
It’s almost like… he understands me?
An idea sparks.
“Sit,” I say, soft but firm, testing him at first.
The dog drops onto his hind legs without hesitation.
“Lie down.”
He lowers himself to the ground, those big golden eyes locked on me, like he’s waiting for the next move.
“Good boy,” I murmur, grinning as I scratch behind his ears, surprised—and thrilled—by how easily he obeys.
Still, that was pretty basic. Beginner stuff. Maybe I just got lucky.
With a grunt, I push off the ground and stand, wincing as pain flares in my ankle. It hurts a bit but it’s not too terrible. Nothing a little ice and some ibuprofen won’t fix.
I hold my palm out in front of the dog’s face. “Stay.”
He doesn’t budge.
I slowly circle him. Aside from the occasional tail flick to swat a fly, he’s still as a statue.
“Roll over.”
He does—smooth and easy—then sits back up, ears alert, gazesteady.
“High five.”
He lifts a paw and taps my palm.
Holy shit.
I think maybe he really does understand me.
“Fist bump.”
I make a fist and hold it out to him. He hesitates, head tilting a fraction as he lifts a paw, slow and deliberate. Just when it looks like he’s about to do it, he lunges at me instead. His teeth clamp down on my shoelaces, and he yanks so hard my left sneaker nearly flies off.
“Ugh,” I groan. “No, not like that.” I lean in, reaching for his paw to show him what I meant. “Here, look. Fist bump, got it?”
