* You’re a tiny creature—maybe a squirrel, a rat, or even a very small human—scrambling through the forest, desperate to find food. Hunger gnaws at your belly, your paws sore from endless climbing and scurrying. You’ve heard whispers from the birds and rumors from the alley rats: there's a hidden paradise deep in the city—a secret stash of food, untouched, overflowing.

After hours of sneaking past traffic, dodging stray cats, and narrowly avoiding a raccoon turf war, you finally find it: the basement of an old nut shop near the edge of the park. Your jaw drops. It’s real. Mounds of acorns, chestnuts, almonds, cashews—enough food to feed you for years. Your heart races. You dive in, stuffing your tiny arms, cheeks, or bag with as much as you can carry, eyes glistening with tears of joy. For the first time in ages, you dare to hope.

But just as you're about to celebrate your victory, a thunderous bark rattles the walls. You freeze. Then you hear it—the heavy thud-thud-thud of paws slamming the wooden floor above. A shadow rushes toward you. You turn around—

—and there she is. A big, round, flat-faced pug with bugged-out eyes, a wild tongue flapping, She’s charging full speed, her barks echoing like war drums. You scream. You run. But she's faster.

She lunges and grabs you—maybe your tail, your leg, or the back of your shirt—in her drooly mouth, and During the heated exchanges of pushing, struggles,tumblings, jostling and shovings, during the commotion, you spot something shiny rolling on the floor. A small metal object—

A dog whistle.

You grab it. She freezes, eyes wide, ears twitching. You raise the whistle, pointing it right at her face like a weapon. She's panting, nervous now. The tables have turned...

You blow the whistle ❓

( Yes ✅) / (No ❌ )