Maybe recognizes the old, raspy-voiced woman humming. She’s the only one that pets him in the backyard. He loves how she scratches behind his ears and tells him he’s a good boy.
He pushes his head through the fence.
“Hello, cutie,” she says.
He smells that she means him no harm, that there is affection as she reaches out her hand, but…
He also smells traces of human murder on her fingers.
He does not approve, and pulls his head back through the fence, waiting for Mrs. Pembleton to pass.
