Great Pyrenees

I opened the front door to a rubber arm. Not just a rubber arm, of course. It was held by an animal behaviorist who’d come to our door in search of the “aggressive dog” for which she had been called. But it was the arm that came through the door first. Polar the “aggressive dog” looked curiously at it, then peeked around the door to see who was holding this odd thing. It wasn’t the reaction anticipated by the animal behaviorist I’d called the week earlier in a panic because Polar had bitten a farmer, a woman who delivers our