"Take them off."
One by one, the animal control officers remove the hook-loop-pole-things, moving slowly and gingerly; as soon as the tools are free, their hands go to the tasers on their belts.
Bear holds Panzer's gaze. He pats his thigh. "Komm. Fuss.”K-oh-m; fooss.
Instantly, the dog bolts forward, curls in a tight circle, and stands at Bear's side, his big ribcage against Bear's thigh.
"Braver Hund, Panzer. Braver Hund."Br-ah-ver hoond.
"The fuck?" one of the officers mutters. "German?"
Bear nods. "Highly trained guard dogs like this are taught in German. He won’t respond to English commands because he doesn’t know them."
“Fuck me. He's like a different dog entirely,” the first officer says.
Bear unhooks the wicked-looking barbed collar and tosses it away. "He was hurt and scared. His owner died. He’s upset."
"He destroyed the house his owner was living in. An older guy who lived alone. Neighbors eventually called the cops due to the smell. Cops called us. Could barely get this guy here."
Gloria emerges from the corner. "I don't know about that one, Bear."
Bear crouches in front of Panzer, ruffling his ear as he slips the muzzle off. "He's mine. I'll take him."
"But Bear—" Gloria shimmies around the counter and huddles behind Bear's bulk, peering nervously around him at the massive dog, who is now standing in the same place, panting andgrinning happily up at Bear. "Are yousure? I don't know if your apartments allow dogs."
"My problem, not yours." Bear juts his chin up at the animal control officers. "Thanks, fellas. We're good."
"You're sure?" the lead officer asks, obviously skeptical.
"I'm sure. He'll stand there just like that until I say otherwise, whether it's five minutes or an hour." Bear ruffles Panzer's ears. "Sitz, Panzer."
Panzer plops his butt down and resumes panting. Bear goes around the counter and through the doors, but Panzer only watches him go with a concerned look on his face. After a moment, Panzer gives a sad little whine in his throat.
Bear reappears, and Panzer goes back to happy panting. "See?"
"Craziest shit I've ever seen, man," one officer says as they troop out the door.
Gloria rubs her face with both hands. "That was rather frightening."
"How did you know?" I ask.
"His name tag," Bear answers. "Panzer is a German word. Means tank."
"You speak German?" I ask, unable to hide my shock.
"Not really. My cellmate was German. Trained dogs professionally for the police and military as well as private owners. He taught me a few words—commands, mostly."
I have a billion questions, and I’m not sure which one to ask first, or how to ask any of them.
Gloria sighs. "Well, kids, that was about all the excitement this old lady can handle for one day. You can go, Bear, I’ll close up. Thanks for all your help today, dear."
Bear grunts and nods. "See you tomorrow."
"Are you really taking that dog home?" Gloria asks.
“Yeah. I'll figure something out."
“I’ll get the adoption paperwork together for you tomorrow. You can take a bowl, leash, and some food if you'd like."
