The second I walked in with the Doberman mask, she froze — eyes wide, ears forward, trying to decide if she was meeting a stranger or dealing with the world’s weirdest version of me. She approached slowly, sniffing the air with suspicion.
Then came the realization. She circled me, tilted her head, and finally let out that little huff she does when she’s confused but not scared. You could almost see her thinking, “This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”
And once she figured it out, she nudged me like she was telling me to stop playing around. Even with the mask, she knew me — that’s the loyalty of a Doberman.
