A crowd had gathered. Children on bikes stopped. A woman held her phone up to record.

The officers stepped out, their eyes fixed on a large German Shepherd lying by the porch steps.
The dog’s muzzle was gray, one ear slightly torn, its gaze calm but wary.

A young officer spoke first. “We have reports of this dog attacking a jogger. He’s dangerous.”

The door creaked open. An old man — probably in his late seventies — stepped out, leaning on a cane. His clothes were wrinkled, his steps shaky.
He looked at the officers, then at the dog.

“What’s this about?” he asked.

“Sir, we have to take the animal,” the officer said, lowering his voice. “He bit someone this morning.”

The old man’s face paled. He knelt beside the dog, placing a trembling hand on its head.
“Max wouldn’t bite anyone,” he whispered. “He’s trained. He’s… my partner.”