He slowly rubbed his right thumb over an old scar in his palm, his eyes still fixed on the water.
“He’s not hurting anyone, officer,” the man said.
Delta did not move nor did it return to my side.
Instead, he stood up and placed his template between the bench and us.
He let out a low, vibrating grunt, directed straight at me.
“Commander,” Gerald whispered.
The beam of his flashlight trembled slightly as he pointed it towards the dog’s chest.
“He does not recognize the order.”
At that sound, my chest tightened.
Delta had undergone months of intensive obedience training, but her attitude was entirely defensive.
He was protecting the foreigner.
“Easy, boy,” said the man.
His voice, a gentle Southern accent, seemed to calm the animal instantly.
“They’re just doing their job.”
“Please identify yourself,” I said, taking a step forward.
“Ernesto,” said the man.
He did not immediately look up, keeping his gaze fixed on the dog’s ears.
“I was simply taking my morning walk.”
“This is a police dog,” I said, brandishing the eighty-five-dollar harness.
“He escaped from our premises three hours ago.”
“Are you implying that I stole it?” asked Ernesto.
He looked up, his face marked by deep wrinkles.
“I ask you how he ended up at your feet,” I said.
Ernesto finally looked at me, his eyes misty but calm.
“He came towards me as if he already knew my name.”
I didn’t believe him.
“Dogs don’t run five kilometers across town to find a stranger, Mr. Ernesto.”
“I didn’t call him, ma’am,” Ernesto said.
“He trotted over, sat down, and rested his head against my knee.”
As if by magic, Delta pressed her heavy head back against the old man’s trousers.
The dog closed its eyes, exhaled deeply, and remained perfectly still.
“Gerald, put the escape line on him immediately,” I ordered.
Gerald advanced cautiously.
“Watch his posture, Commander,” Gerald said.
“He’s wagging his tail.”
Delta remained tense but let the rope slip around his neck.
Her eyes never left mine as the rope tightened.
“Look at his shoulder, Commander,” Gerald said.
He pointed his flashlight towards the dog’s left side.
“Under the fur, there is a thick, irregular mark.”
I leaned over to examine the area of skin.
It was a crescent-shaped scar, old and deep, white on dark skin.
“It came from shrapnel,” Ernesto said softly.
He slowly traced the outline of the scar on his own palm.
“A bad day in the mud.”
“This dog has no military record,” I said.
“He was bought from a breeder in Sacramento.”
Ernesto did not respond, his eyes following the dog as Gerald led him back to the path.
“Let’s go, Gerald,” I said.
“Get him in the back of the police car.”
We retraced our steps towards the pier entrance, Delta reluctantly walking alongside Gerald.
