Barnaby wasn’t just a dog; he was a walking, breathing rug of tricolor fluff that inhabited the slopes of the Swiss Alps. To the Miller family, he was the "Velvet Giant," a creature whose primary functions were leaning against legs until they buckled and leaning into naps with the intensity of a full-time job.
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Instead of following the path Sophie thought was right, Barnaby leaned into his harness and turned left, cutting through a thicket of pine. He moved with a slow, deliberate cadence, his thick coat acting as a warm barrier against the damp chill. Sophie gripped his fur, trusting the rhythmic thump-thump of his steady gait. Barnaby wasn’t just a dog; he was a