The Day the Woods Got Mean

 Everything started out so fun. The sun was warm, the woods were alive, and I was keeping up pretty well for a little guy. Skye was trotting beside me, tongue flopping, and Chewy was up ahead with Joel, running like he always does—fast, focused, like he’s chasing ghosts or trying to outrun them.

Then it happened.

Out of nowhere, a dog lunged at Chewy. No leash. No muzzle. No warning. Just rage. Joel was yelling—“GET YOUR DOG OFF MY DOG!”—and my legs were frozen, tiny paws locked to the ground. Skye barked, Emma screamed. And Chewy? Chewy didn’t make a sound. Not even a whimper. Just stood his ground like he always does.

The worst part? He was wearing a muzzle. That thing humans make him wear because he gets scared sometimes. He couldn't even defend himself. And then that other dog’s person—the one who didn’t even leash their dog—called the police. Said Chewy bit her finger. As if that’s possible with a muzzle on. I might be little, but even I know that doesn’t make sense.

Now Chewy’s on the couch. His ear is stitched up, and he’s wearing this giant plastic cone that makes it hard for him to lie down without bumping into everything. He looks like some kind of wounded satellite. Skye keeps sniffing him, trying to check if he’s okay. I tried to sit next to him, but he didn’t say much. Just kind of stared ahead, like he was somewhere else.

Chewy’s tough, but he’s tired. I can feel it in the way he sighs. He’s got this big heart, but sometimes the world doesn’t give him a break. And that makes my own little heart feel like it’s been stepped on.

I’m keeping an eye on him now. I’m sleeping near him so he’s not alone. He looked out for me the moment I arrived in this house. Now it’s my turn.

We’re gonna get through this. Together.

—Peanut 🐾