Wrangler tips his hat low, grin wide as a summer sunrise.

“Name’s still Wrangler, sir—always will be. Ain’t no fancy title nor new hide gonna change that. I was yer pup, yer partner, an’ yer best hand long ‘fore I got these two legs under me.”

He plants a hand on his chest, voice steady but respectful.

“Reckon the Good Lord or them stars above gave me this shape so I could work proper at yer side. But make no mistake, boss—I’m still yer good boy, through an’ through. An’ I aim t’prove it every sunrise ‘til the cows come home.”