They’re fixing the fence again. About time. I told them that four feet just isn’t enough when you’ve got a mission to protect. Mail carriers, FedEx, UPS—don’t even get me started. They show up like they own the place, and I’ve got to be the one out there holding the line.
The real reason we’re upgrading the fence, though? She showed up in the front yard one afternoon, all calm and mysterious, like she’d just strolled out of a dream. I couldn’t help myself. I launched clean over that flimsy fence to meet her. Had to let her know whose territory this was, but… I’ll admit it, I was also kind of impressed. Her name was Natasha. Came with Josh’s mum to pick him up from our house. Classy entrance, if you ask me.
I’ve got a good heart—always have—but I’ve seen some things, and I don’t trust easy. That’s the PTSD talking. I’m not just barking to bark; I’m watching, I’m reading the air. My people count on me. I take that seriously.
So yeah, build the new fence. Make it higher. Reinforce it. But don’t ever ask me to stop caring. That’s just not who I am.
—Chewy
0 Comments