The way dogs judge your shoulders

I just locked myself out of my flat again — not because I’m careless, but because the key turned funny. My dog stood there like he’d seen it all before, ears low, eyes narrowed. Like, ‘You’re doing this to yourself again? Really?’ It’s not even about the lock. It’s the way he reads me: the slump in my back, the way I sigh before even touching the door. He doesn’t care about the mechanism. He cares about the weight I carry when I fail. And honestly? That’s more accurate than any smart lock ever will be.