ANDY
Getting the dog into my Jeep was harder than I expected.
He was frightened, injured, and understandably defensive, and every time I tried to move him, he growled or flinched. I kept talking to him in the same calm voice I used with frightened animals at the clinic until he finally stopped fighting long enough for me to wrap my jacket around him and lift him carefully.
He was heavier than he looked.
By the time I managed to get him into the back of the Jeep, my arms were shaking, and there was blood on my shirt.
"You're going to be okay," I told him as I climbed back into the driver's seat. "Just hold on."
I wasn't sure he could hear me, but I also didn't care.
I was getting him help; if I couldn’t find it, I would take him back to the apartment and do it myself. This dog wasn’t
