He was almost at my throat when baby cried, and then he stood there, his red eyes a foot from us, and I could have sworn again that he was a dog.

In an instant he turned, and was fighting the wolves.

I saw him leap upon one that was almost at your throat." "He _was_ a dog," said old Pierre, holding out his hands to the warmth.
"They often wander away from the posts, and join the wolves.

I have had dogs do that.

_Ma cheri_, a dog is a dog all his life.