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When Sam Winchester grew up wanting a dog, he logically knew that it wasn't a good idea. They were constantly on the road, and animals need some sense of stability in their lives. The frequent moves wouldn't have been good for a furry companion.
That didn't stop him from wanting a dog, of course. Or constantly bugging his father about it. In retrospect, he knows that wasn't fair. John wasn't trying to deprive him of something he wanted for the sake of deprivation. But try reasoning with a teenager and see how well that goes.
Ten years down the road, Sam finally has a dog of his own. He'd adopted the puppy from the local animal shelter, naming the ball of golden fur 'Bones' the way he'd always wanted to. In the year and a half that Sam had had him, he'd grown into an 80 pound dog who never seemed to realize he'd quadrupled in size. He was still quite fond of attempting to be a lap dog, and given that he was completely spoiled, Sam usually let him.
Despite that, Sam had trained Bones very well. Knowing the size he was going to reach, having a well-behaved dog was crucial. So Sam put him through all the training levels the local pet store had to offer, and 9 times out of 10, he was a wonderfully obedient dog.
Except, apparently, today is that 1 time out of 10.
They're on their normal jog through the park, Bones directly at Sam's side while they jog. And then Bones seems to decide that he doesn't feel like jogging anymore, and takes off full-tilt. Sam loses his hold on the leash, and before he can even call out a warning, Bones is tackling some poor guy to the ground.
It isn't aggressive at all- the dog is clearly trying to be affectionate as he licks at his victim's face- but Sam has seen first hand that not all people know dog body language. The guy could very easily think he's being attacked, and that more than anything has him hauling Bones off the guy.
"God, I'm so sorry," he says, giving Bones a look that has the dog sitting without a word of instruction. "He never does that. I don't know what got into him."
That didn't stop him from wanting a dog, of course. Or constantly bugging his father about it. In retrospect, he knows that wasn't fair. John wasn't trying to deprive him of something he wanted for the sake of deprivation. But try reasoning with a teenager and see how well that goes.
Ten years down the road, Sam finally has a dog of his own. He'd adopted the puppy from the local animal shelter, naming the ball of golden fur 'Bones' the way he'd always wanted to. In the year and a half that Sam had had him, he'd grown into an 80 pound dog who never seemed to realize he'd quadrupled in size. He was still quite fond of attempting to be a lap dog, and given that he was completely spoiled, Sam usually let him.
Despite that, Sam had trained Bones very well. Knowing the size he was going to reach, having a well-behaved dog was crucial. So Sam put him through all the training levels the local pet store had to offer, and 9 times out of 10, he was a wonderfully obedient dog.
Except, apparently, today is that 1 time out of 10.
They're on their normal jog through the park, Bones directly at Sam's side while they jog. And then Bones seems to decide that he doesn't feel like jogging anymore, and takes off full-tilt. Sam loses his hold on the leash, and before he can even call out a warning, Bones is tackling some poor guy to the ground.
It isn't aggressive at all- the dog is clearly trying to be affectionate as he licks at his victim's face- but Sam has seen first hand that not all people know dog body language. The guy could very easily think he's being attacked, and that more than anything has him hauling Bones off the guy.
"God, I'm so sorry," he says, giving Bones a look that has the dog sitting without a word of instruction. "He never does that. I don't know what got into him."
