11/19/2005

Shorthairs

The roof of the El Camino’s cab was just high enough to put me out of reach. Two of four riled-up German Shorthairs lunged up at me with teeth bared, frothy pink and black jowls flapping.

The other two were hard after Donny Van Etten. I yelled to him, “Get up on DeWitt’s car!” What I actually screamed was probably not as clear and concise as that, but he got the message just in time. He scrambled to safety atop a car parked a little farther down Codwise Street.

The El Camino and the German Shorthairs belonged to our neighbor, Meatball. It was normal for the one to be out on the street, but not the others. By the time we noticed that the big dogs were loose, they’d already zeroed in on us.

The sharp sting of teeth pinching my rump inspired a new way of thinking. I hadn’t previously seen an El Camino’s roof as a haven of escape, but crisis had caused me to redefine my cognitive categories.

We waited not-so-patiently for the ruckus to rouse Meatball to our rescue. The dogs no doubt expected their master to run out in his plaids, praise them for their work, and neatly despatch us with his thirty-odd-six.

Fortunately, Meatball was our friend so he didn’t do that. Instead, he scolded the dogs and sent them back to their pen confused and sorely disappointed.

As soon as the coast was clear, Donny and I slid down off the cars and ran home. Between sobs, I blurted fragmented details of the ordeal to my parents. Describing the drama to them while they inspected my skin for damage helped me settle down. It began the curative shift toward framing my distress in the past tense.

3 comments:

wshort said...

They got me too!!! It was after your Mom brought a bunch of us home in the green station wagon. We had just spent the day at the Community Theater on Broadway (now UPAC) to see the Monster Mash. As I passed "Meatballs" house, one of the large dogs came from the garage and bit me in the back sides. Unfortunately, no car to jump om. To this day I don't know why I was walking home that way down Codwise in stead of cutting through the Wilbur's yard across the street.

Scott said...

I am amazed at your memory! And I thought mine was vivid... Thank you for rounding out the details of the story.

Scott said...

Continued...

When are you going to start writing stories, Wayne? I can't create the Sunset Park Chronicles all by myself, you know!