Kneeling to Her Height
He lowered himself into a crouch so his eyes were level with the girl’s. Palms up. Voice low.
“Hey, kiddo. I’m Mason. Is this your buddy?” He tilted his head toward the dog, not the child, giving her space to breathe.
She swallowed. “His name is Biscuit.”
“Biscuit looks like an excellent helper,” Mason said. “Can I show you something on his collar?”
He didn’t reach until she nodded. Then he pointed—not touching—at the brass tag gleaming under Biscuit’s chin.
