“I know. He’s doing a very important job right now.”
Titan did not look at me.
That frightened me more than if he had.
He was locked on the snake with the absolute concentration I had seen when he tracked armed suspects through buildings. He had recognized the threat before any human in the park understood one existed.
I reached for the radio clipped to my shoulder.
“Dispatch, K9 unit at Centennial Park. I need fire medical and animal control. Child pinned by my dog, no bite. Venomous snake within striking distance of her head. Keep responding units quiet on approach.”
The dispatcher paused.
“Confirm: venomous snake?”
“Confirmed.”
The snake lifted another inch.
Titan growled.
Its head turned toward him.
I understood then why he had hit the girl so hard.
She had been bending for the frisbee. Her face would have come down almost directly over the leaves. Titan had crossed the field not to attack her, but to put his body between hers and the strike zone.
“Good boy,” I whispered.
His ears flicked once.
The girl’s mother sank to her knees several feet away.
“Is she bitten?”
“I don’t know yet. I don’t see a strike. Do not come closer.”
“That’s my baby.”
“I know. Help me by staying where you are.”
The words felt cruel, but panic could kill the child faster than patience could save her.
For nearly two minutes, nothing changed.
It felt like an hour.
Then an animal control officer approached from the path carrying a snake hook and a covered transport tub. She stopped far outside the coil’s reach.
“Handler, can the dog hold?”
“Until I tell him otherwise.”
I hoped that was true.
Titan had already ignored four commands that afternoon. But now I understood the disobedience. He had prioritized the threat he detected over my incomplete information.
The officer crouched.
