“I’m going to sue you! Your dog attacked my child!”
The woman’s voice rang out like an alarm as she stormed into our yard, her face twisted with rage. In her arms was a sobbing little girl, maybe six years old, clutching her stomach where a faint scratch could be seen.
I stood frozen in disbelief.
Rocky, my dog, was lying by the flowerbed, tail wagging peacefully. We’d had him for nearly five years — loyal, calm, never aggressive. And now, out of nowhere, he was being accused of attacking a child? The woman acted like we had a wild predator on our hands. She’d already called the police and was shouting that Rocky needed to be put down immediately.
My hands trembled, but I forced myself to speak.
“My dog didn’t hurt anyone,” I said as evenly as I could. “He loves kids. Maybe something else happened. We have a security camera that records the yard. Do you want to see what really happened?”
The police officers nodded, and we went inside to check the footage. The camera above the front door had a clear view of the entire yard — including the area where the supposed “attack” took place.
We hit play.
There was Rocky, lying near the bench, lazily watching birds. A few seconds later, the woman and her daughter appeared on screen. The little girl approached Rocky, slowly.
Then we saw it — and our hearts dropped.
In her hand was something small… metallic…
A stun gun.
The officers leaned in, stunned.
On camera, the girl stepped up to Rocky and extended the device. A quick click — and Rocky yelped, leaping away in terror. The girl stumbled backward and fell. That scratch? Probably from hitting the ground or brushing against the nearby bushes.
The truth was undeniable.
The woman’s face went pale as the footage played.
“This can’t be…” she muttered. “That’s not… hers…”
An officer turned to her, his voice calm but firm.
“Where did she get a stun gun?”
The woman slowly sank to the floor.
“It’s my husband’s,” she admitted. “He kept it in the car… She must have grabbed it without us knowing…”
No one spoke for a moment.
Rocky wandered inside, sensing that the storm had passed, and laid at my feet—his eyes soft, as if seeking comfort or forgiveness.
Poor Rocky.
Accused, nearly condemned… all because of someone else’s carelessness.
