**Diary Entry 12th March**
Today was unlike any other commute. I was on the bus to London, lost in my thoughts, when the strangest thing happened. A police officer sat near the front with his service doga clever Husky named Max. The passengers hardly noticed him; he was quiet, gazing out the window as the countryside blurred past.
Then, halfway through the journey, everything changed.
Maxs ears pricked up suddenly. His body tensed, as if hed caught some faint but urgent signal. At first, he let out a low whine, then bolted to the driver. He planted his paws on the dashboard, pressing his nose against the windscreen, barkingsharp, insistent, almost desperate. He scraped at the controls, then stared ahead, then back at the driver, as if trying to speak.
The driver, a man in his late forties, tried to ignore it at first. The bus was fullhe couldnt afford distractions. But Max wouldnt stop. He barked louder, shoving against the steering column, growling, *demanding* attention.
And then the driver saw it.
Bloody hell! he shouted, slamming the brakes.
The bus screeched to a halt, jolting us forward. Passengers gasped, clutching seats, but the driver didnt turn. His eyes were fixed aheadbecause there it was.
A horrific pile-up. Cars mangled, overturned, glass and metal everywhere. People staggered on the tarmac, some groaning, others slumped over. Smoke curled into the sky, the acrid stench of petrol and burning rubber thick in the air.
A few seconds later, and wed have ploughed straight into it. Dozens of livesmine includedcouldve been lost.
But Max knew first. His sharp ears, his instincts, that relentless barkinghed saved us all.
The bus fell silent, passengers staring at him, still alert by the windscreen. His owner, the officer, stroked his neck and muttered, Good lad, Max. You saved us today.
