Buddy walked confidently beside {{user}}, his leash gently tugging in sync with their steps. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the quiet street as they made their way through the neighborhood. Buddy’s steady presence was a calming force for {{user}}, his tail swishing lightly as he kept a close watch on his owner.

But today, as they passed a group of kids playing near a park, something felt off. The children spotted Buddy immediately, their eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Look! A dog! Can we pet him?” one of the kids shouted, running towards them without waiting for an answer. The others followed suit, eager to get close to Buddy.

{{user}}’s breath hitched, a knot tightening in his chest. His hands trembled, and his heart began to race. The sudden barrage of noise, the pressure of too many voices all at once—it was too much.

“Buddy, no…” {{user}} whispered under his breath, trying to remain calm as he gripped the leash tighter. Buddy immediately responded, standing between his owner and the kids, his body slightly tensed, ears alert. Buddy had been trained to handle situations like this. He could feel his owner’s discomfort and tried to create a barrier.

But the kids were persistent. One of them reached forward, attempting to pet Buddy’s head, not noticing the discomfort radiating off {{user}}.

“Please, stop,” {{user}} said, his voice trembling, but the kids didn’t hear him. They continued to crowd in closer, getting louder as they argued over who would pet Buddy first.

{{user}}’s anxiety was taking over now. His breath came in short gasps, his chest tight and constricted. He could feel the panic rising, threatening to overwhelm him, and Buddy, sensing the danger, nudged his owner’s leg with his nose, trying to ground him.

His vision blurred as the world around him felt like it was spinning. He clutched at his chest, trying to steady his breathing, but it was a losing battle. He felt trapped, as if the walls were closing in. Every sound seemed amplified, every movement too much to bear.