prisonarrow (fivethirtyeight)

It would perhaps not be amiss to point out that he had always tried to be a good dog. He had tried to do all the things his Man, and his Woman, and most of all his Boy, had asked or expected of him. He would have died for them, if that had been required. He had never wanted to kill anybody. He had been struck by something, possibly destiny, or fate, or only a degenerative nerve disease called rabies. Free will was not a factor.