He’s harmless, the owner assured me, just a young puppy, really, that wants to play.
I smiled at the yelping mass of spotted fur and tried to get over my irrational fears.
Nice puppy, I crooned in a soft, sweet voice, Nice little Saint Bernard that’s as big as a spotted Jersey heifer. His jowls were slobbery moist but his tail thumped in welcome, and his dark eyes were playful.
You’re a sweet, little doggie. I smiled bravely, and reached out to pat the top of his huge head. In a flash, jaws snapped upward and I realized that he had bitten my wrist.
Stop, Samson! Drop it! yelled someone standing on the edge of shock-blurred reality.
The hulking brute quickly released my bleeding, tooth-marked arm and looked expectantly at his master, who gave him a doggie treat and said: Look how well he obeys orders!
“Smart Puppy.”
“Good Dog.”
