Cujo was like the dog equivalent of that old myth about goldfish growing to fit their space. He'd been mistaken for a very small Arcanine on more than one occasion.

Scar's struggling only seemed to encourage him.

Ponylike tail whipping back and forth, Cujo wriggled with pure excitement and continued to bathe Scar's face with a tongue that seemed too giant and sloppy to even be able to fit inside his mouth.

But never fear, rescue was at hand.

"CUJO! Cujo, what the HELL, leave that poor guy alone!"

A pair of scrawny freckled arms clamped around the Growlithe's neck and hauled him backwards.