A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

The scent of freshly baked bread, usually a comforting aroma for Rose, felt almost suffocating today. It clung to the air in the bustling bakery, a place she and Luci frequented, a place that had, until recently, been a sanctuary. Today, however, a knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach, a familiar tightness that had nothing to do with her own condition and everything to do with the unpredictable nature of human behavior. Luci, sensing her unease, nudged her hand with her wet nose, her deep brown eyes a steady anchor in the swirling current of Rose’s apprehension. Luci’s tail gave a gentle, almost imperceptible thump against the floor, a silent reassurance.

“It’s okay, girl,” Rose murmured, stroking the soft fur behind Luci’s ears, her fingers finding the familiar, comforting texture. “We’re okay.” But the words felt hollow, a flimsy shield against the storm that often brewed when service dog teams ventured into public spaces.

The culprit of Rose’s distress was currently a whirlwind of uncontrolled energy near the pastry display. It was Rocky, a boisterous golden retriever whose tail seemed to possess a mind of its own, wagging with such ferocity it threatened to knock over a tower of croissants. Rocky was dressed in a vest, a bright red one that proclaimed “Service Dog” in bold white letters. Yet, his behavior was a stark contrast to the quiet dignity of Luci, or the focused alertness of Max, the diabetes alert dog Rose knew through her support group.