With a practiced yank, Guy tightened the lasso around his robo-shepherd’s legs. Max tumbled to the dry ground with a woof. Guy strode forward to stroke Max’s soft, synthetically furred head and removed the lasso. “Good boy. You put up a good chase this time, but I took you down.” The mottled-brown Max appeared to grin, tongue slurping along the cuts on his hands—the dog’s saliva carried first-aid anesthetic. Its tail thumped on the ground and sent dust flying in a cloud. Guy chuckled and signaled to Max with a wave and a low-key whistle. The knee-height robo-dog took off, leaving a rolling wave of air-thrown dirt in its wake as it circled Trident Ranch’s smallest corral. Keeping track of the robot’s circular sprinting, Guy coiled the lasso and paused. The next lap around, once Max passed the gate, he’d be in optimal position. He tensed, ready to strike. A hum at his waist distracted him from the game. With a sigh he gripped the comm unit and whistled for Max to return.
