But I knew Max. And this wasn’t just age or nerves. This was something.
I began watching more closely. The pattern was always the same: Max was fine with visitors, even with our loud neighbor kids. But the moment Carol crossed the threshold, he was on edge.
One afternoon, I caught something that gave me chills. I’d left Carol in the living room with the kids while I went to grab a tray of lemonade. Max was lying on the rug. When I returned, Carol was reaching into her purse, and Max stood up so quickly he knocked over a lamp. He barked, teeth bared, placing himself between Carol and Lily. Carol shrieked.
“Are you seeing this?” she screamed. “That mutt just lunged at me!”
I checked Lily—she was fine. A little scared, but unharmed. Carol’s purse had fallen open, and inside I saw… a bottle of essential oils.
“Lavender,” Carol huffed, scooping it up. “It helps kids sleep. You should try it sometime.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Something didn’t sit right with me. I started to keep a journal—tracking Max’s reactions, Carol’s visits, and anything out of the ordinary. The entries painted a pattern I couldn’t ignore.
