Aspen’s happy bark rang out a split second before absolute mayhem broke loose.
“HEY—HEY! THAT’S MINE!”
A warrior’s shout echoed across the yard just as Aspen launched himself like a furry missile. The wolfdog slammed into the poor guy from behind, knocking him flat onto the grass. In one fluid, practiced motion, Aspen planted his paws squarely on the man’s back and yanked the peanut butter sandwich straight out of his hand.
The warrior groaned. “Is— is he sitting on me?”
“Yes,” Trey said flatly, stopping dead in his tracks. “He absolutely is.”
Aspen sat proudly on the warrior’s spine, tail wagging like a metronome of victory, chomping down on the sandwich with blissful focus. Peanut butter smeared his snout as he chewed, entirely unbothered by the muffled protests beneath him.
Elijah
