In Search of Ponies: Transferable protective disorder

Sharna Johnson

I expected barking when I knocked.

And I wasn’t surprised to see his nose help push the door open.

What did catch me a little off guard was when the snarling continued, even after he saw it was me.

“Hey Rusty,” I said, thinking perhaps he needed to hear my voice, but his lip still curled, quivering above his teeth.

“Take your hat off,” his owner said from behind the door.

“Good idea,” I replied. He probably didn’t recognize me in the hat.

Nope, the snarling continued and —