The first time I smashed a car window to save a dog, I was nineteen years old and still in training.

I laid her in the shade near the storefront and started cooling her fast — water on the stomach, chest, paws, neck.

Her gums were dark.

Breathing shallow.

Eyes rolled back.

I gave her rescue breaths because sometimes instinct overrides protocol.

One breath.

Two.

Then suddenly her chest jerked.

Air.

A weak inhale, but enough.