They advanced on me. Sighing, I just sat on my haunches and waited. I knew better than to offer any resistance. I didn’t have Jeffy’s youthful strength or Hangman’s down-and-dirty fighting skills, and I didn’t want to end up crippled or dead. I was too old and worth too much for that.
“Say the word,” I said, “and you can have it.”
“Arms,” said the Doberman.
I held them out. Grinning, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, the dog took a length of cord from his belt and looped it around my wrists several times, drawing it painfully tight. Then he yipped and pranced back, pulling me with him. The whole pack began to bark.
I closed my eyes and raised my psychoscreen barriers. If they went for my blood, I didn’t want to feel it—no chances this time.
But the dogs seemed to be playing mo
