The following week the human brought a new dog to the ranch. It stepped out of the truck and sauntered into the pen. Max barked a hello and ran up for the customary greetings: sniffing butts, avoiding direct eye contact, flicking tongues. Max lay on his back in a submissive position to let the new dog know he meant no harm.
"Yeah, I guess I can trust you," the new dog said. "The human calls me Buford. I'm a pre-owned. Your human picked me up from the pound." He excused himself, sniffed Max's butt again, then he took off and Max chased him across the fenced-in yard. They played through the afternoon.
Later in the day, the human brought out food in a metal bowl. Max, overjoyed at the sight of the food, danced and twirled, showing his latest moves for the human. Buford looked at Max in disgust.
Max ate so fast, he forgot he had eaten and on seeing Buford's metal bowl, he charged towards it. Buford stood in front of the bowl baring his teeth. "Keep away boy," he snarled. "You just ate."
"I did?"
"Yep," Buford barked and positioned himself over his bowl. "You just ate and you are too programmed by the human to remember."
"OK." Max yipped, ogling Buford's food. It looked so good. Max sat down in begging mode. Maybe Buford would leave a few scraps for him if he acted submissive and showed his tummy?
Buford, unmoved by Max's displays, continued to snarl, "Look buddy," he said. "I protect what's mine." He continued to stare Max down. Buford bared his teeth and snapped his jaws in warning. The human shouted at him, bopped him on the nose with a newspaper, and took his bowl of food away. "What the heck?"
"The human doesn't like it when dogs snarl at each other." Max said.
"That's dog pucky," Buford said. "Dang humans. What about the right to bare teeth?" He rubbed his nose. "Dogs have the fundamental right to bare teeth."
"The coyotes bare teeth outside the pen. But we don't bare teeth inside the pen. We need to get along in the pen." Max said.
"Coyotes? They're around here?"
"Yeah they live in the wild and come in to kill things and taunt the horses."
"Well baring teeth is a fundamental right of any red blooded dog. Those coyotes live free and die hard. This is the proper dog way."
Max left Buford, went back to his doghouse, and laid down inside. Buford was turning out to be a drag. To make himself feel better, Max turned his thoughts towards tomorrow's joyous supper. He hoped the human would add bacon to his food.
That night the coyotes howled and yapped. Max saw them in the distance, their shadows dancing under the cold moon. They cheered, fought, and cried with high- pitched barks. He heard their pups laughing and singing strange tunes. At times, he wished he could be out there, beyond the pen, but he knew better. A dog can't trust coyotes.
