Not happily — he wasn’t a tail-wagging, toy-chasing kind of dog — but quietly, almost respectfully, as if he understood he’d been granted a second chance and didn’t want to jeopardize it.
He explored room by room, slow and deliberate, memorizing the terrain with the same seriousness he seemed to apply to everything. He never barked, never whined, never pushed boundaries. If anything, he behaved more like a guest than a pet.
Emily found herself relaxing a little more each day. David… not as much. He watched Ranger constantly. Every time Lily toddled by, he hovered — ready to step between them if anything felt off. Emily couldn’t blame him. Trauma changed animals. Even gentle ones. And yet, Ranger never made a wrong move.
When Lily dropped her cup, he flinched but didn’t react. When she tripped and landed softly against his side, he didn’t so much as shift. When she giggled and patted his back, he dipped his head, almost apologetic, as if trying to reassure her he meant no harm. Emily caught herself smiling once — really smiling — as she watched them.