Sarah's Scribbles by Sarah Andersen for May 16, 2018

[not my story, from a internet haunt I frequent:]

He had a great soul, and I came to think of him as “Great-Souled Corwin,” and admire his humanity (for lack of a better word.)

But, I thought of him as a lovable, but ultimately inept goof. A comic figure.

Corwin though, showed me differently, and we shared a defining moment.

I was walking around the property. Corwin was off galumphing about somewhere ahead.

There’s a wild dog problem in this area. People buy a dog, decide they don’t like it and set it free in the gamelands a mile away. Every late fall these dogs get hungry, lean, and mean, and they cause trouble with livestock and scare people. I’ve had five or six encounters in my time here, and I now do what my neighbors do when they encounter one. They shoot it.

This was my first fall though, and my first encounter. I was unarmed, and merely out for a walk.

It was a Doberman, and it had been shot in the side of the head at some point. It had a big infected wound, and it was pissed off and seemed inclined to take it out on me. I knew better than to run, but this dog had me scared. It would charge forward silently a few paces, stop and back up. It wasn’t barking, just growling quietly, and it felt like it was testing me out prior to a serious attack.

I was trying to make my way to a tree when Corwin showed up.

He came bounding over, toungue hanging out of his mouth, tripping over his own feet, and stopped dead when he and the Doberman simultaneously spied each other.

And then the dog I knew was gone. For the first and only time in my knowledge, Corwin became all business.