Dog Food, by Adam Smith

I'd been hiding in the factory for weeks, only venturing out under the cover of darkness, seeking any tidbit or morsel I could find, when I found the dog.

The dog had a good nose and I trusted him, but one evening he got a whiff of his former owner and he lead me to him.

To my surprise, when the man tried to cut me, the dog leaped in, biting the hand that used to feed him. The knife dropped and I snatched it up, backhanding the blade across the oaf's throat.

I didn't eat, but the dog did.