I smiled.
It looked like a game.
Then he grabbed the hem of her sweater.
Lucy yelled.
I went outside.
“Sunny!”
He released immediately.
Lucy looked annoyed.
“He’s being weird.”
“What happened?”
“I wanted to see that tree.”
She pointed toward an old apple tree near the bottom edge.
Half of it was dead.
One main branch had fallen years earlier.
Tall weeds surrounded the trunk.
Sunny stood between Lucy and the tree.
Tail low.
Ears forward.
He whined.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Lucy asked.
I looked around.
Nothing.
Then I saw a hole near the weeds.
Maybe six inches across.
Fresh dirt around it.
“Groundhog.”
I said.
Sunny barked.
“Probably smells it.”
Lucy laughed.
“Maybe he wants the apple.”
I took her hand.
“Come on.”
“Leave Mr. Groundhog alone.”
Sunny followed us home.
That should have been nothing.
The second incident happened five days later.
This time Daniel saw it.
He and Lucy were cleaning fallen branches from the orchard.
Sunny was lying nearby.
Lucy carried a small branch toward the pile.
At some point she walked past Daniel toward the lower tree.
Sunny shot up.
Daniel told me later the dog moved so fast he initially thought Sunny had seen a deer.
Sunny ran directly at Lucy.
Not beside her.
At her.
He hit her legs with his shoulder.
Lucy fell onto the grass.
Daniel shouted.
“Sunny!”
Sunny stood over Lucy.
Not growling.
Not biting.
Panting.
Daniel pulled him away by the collar.
“What the hell?”
Lucy sat up.
Her palms were dirty.
“I’m okay.”
Daniel checked her knees.
One small scrape.
Sunny struggled toward her.
Daniel held him tighter.
“Stop.”
Sunny began whining.
Not angry.
Panicked.
That was the word Daniel used.
“He looked panicked.”
“What was she doing?”
I asked.
“Walking.”
“Where?”
“Toward the back.”
I looked at him.
“The same tree?”
“Maybe.”
Daniel released Sunny.
The dog went immediately to Lucy.
Licked her face.
Pressed against her chest.
Lucy hugged him.
“He didn’t mean to hurt me.”
Daniel looked disturbed.
“He still knocked you down.”
That night, he said:
“We have to watch this.”
“He’s never shown aggression.”
“I know.”
“But seventy-five pounds knocking her over can still hurt her.”
“He wasn’t attacking.”
“I didn’t say attacking.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying dogs change.”
“He’s five.”
“So?”
“Sometimes pain makes them reactive.”
That was reasonable.
I hated it anyway.
We scheduled a veterinary appointment.
Dr. Erin Webb had cared for Sunny since we moved.
She examined everything.