Rising Sun Valley He's U.S.D.A Prime...I think its Suppertime...

Dogmeat was not cowed by the stranger's stature -- and as the towering hunk drew close to him, he recognized the waft of wolfscent flush on the male's coarse fur. His hackles bristled and he stiffened, his thick lower gum curled back in disgust.

His triangular ears remained cupped forwards in assertion -- and he readied himself for any blow the large dog-wolf supplied. "These dogs have been subjected to otoko hands." He replied readily, his curled tail held confidently over his broad backside. Quick was he to glance at the felled dogs about them -- most who had been sick or consumed with malaise well before the van crash. "You may eat them -- and you may die." He growled lowly, his blunt muzzle lifted upwards.

It was up to the dog-wolf to decide then his recourse -- Dogmeat was not lying -- it was evident most of the corpses possessed an unpleasant odor about them entirely unrelated to the advent of their death.