The Doberman was led onto the auction floor with his head low and tail tucked tight. The crowd had expected a show of aggression. Instead, they got fear. Murmurs rippled into laughter. Someone jeered that the dog “looked broken.” Sam watched the dog’s eyes—tired, aware, and far from empty.
The handlers tried to force a demonstration. The dog froze in place, muscles locked, a small whimper slipping out despite himself. One handler muttered, “The mutt is cowardly. No good,” under his breath. Interest drained from the room almost instantly. A quiet decision followed: the dog would be pulled from rotation.
They were already guiding the Doberman away when Sam stepped forward. He didn’t rush. He didn’t raise his voice. “I’ll take him,” he said calmly. The handler looked relieved. The crowd frowned, confused. The dog didn’t move, but his eyes lifted, meeting Sam’s for the first time.